Finite Space
by Lizard17
Summary: The first year after Voyager's return to Earth, former crewmember and Maquis fighter Amanda Jackson unlocks a hundred memories as she falls in love for the first time. Several Lower Decks characters, some PT and JC.
1. Chapter 1

Finite Space

by Liz

_The following is a long-overdue novel. I'm glad finally to share it with you. Many of the characters here are of my own invention, although they occupy the world of Voyager, which is not. In particular, Amanda and Aaron are original characters. I hope you enjoy their journey._

chapter 1

_in which our heroine meets a hero and drops a replicator down the hill, __and Tom Paris doesn't mean to screw things up_

Only thirty more meters to go… twenty more… ten…

_Clang!_ The twenty-five kilo replicator slipped from Amanda's arms against the nearest public news projector, a shabby metallic affair bolted into the concrete sidewalk. An old man walking nearby jumped at the noise and glared at her, but she ignored him and the rest of the crowd bustling past her on the busy city street. Man, this thing was heavy. And she still had to get it up the rest of the hill!

She stood up to stretch her back for the final leg of her trek, perched on the infamous southern slope of San Francisco's Nob Hill. What was that old Greek myth, the one about the man trapped in Hades, forever trying to roll a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down at the last instant? Sisyphus, or Syphilis, or something like that. Whatever his name was, she could relate.

Checking that the replicator was not about to slip away just yet, Amanda let go with one hand so she could wipe the sweat from her face. This city might have some of the mildest weather on the planet, but the effort of lugging this damn thing a whole kilometer and a half uphill was enough to make even a Cardassian sweat. She stood to catch the breeze against her face and looked around. A modernized trolley car rattled and jingled its way up the hill past her, with people of several species hanging off the rails, and a flock of pigeons swirled and reorganized itself around the corners of buildings and sculptures.

Something caught Amanda's eye as she waited for her breath to return. There on the projector, on the current newsreel, was a picture of _Voyager_! Something about the dedication ceremonies for the opening of the museum—a replica of the ship, which was itself still in service.

Well. Her invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.

Not so for the senior officers. They were always in the news these days, it seemed. Amanda felt an excited if jealous rush of excitement as the faces of her former crewmates flashed across the screen. There they all were in a pleasant little panoramic shot: Captain (soon-to-be-Admiral) Janeway, Chakotay in formal civilian clothing, Tuvok, and Ensign—no, _Lieutenant_ Kim to one side. B'Elanna stood with Tom on the other, and the Doctor was hovering nearby. Even Seven, the celebrity Borg without a rank, had been invited.

"No credit to anyone else, of course," Amanda mumbled as she watched. Upon returning, Starfleet had given her a debriefing and a few exit interviews, most of which were subsequently ignored. In return, she had the thanks of her captain, her officers, and of Starfleet high command itself. She even had her Federation citizenship reinstated, plus a full (but pending) pardon for all her past activities associated with the Maquis.

She just didn't have anything else.

"Good news is, they're not going to prosecute," Amanda thought to herself. "Bad news is I still have to carry this damn replicator up the hill."

She watched for a few more moments as the projector showed archived images from the ship's logs: the ship bursting forth from the Borg corridor, original shots of the Caretaker's Array, that sort of thing. And just think, the whole time she had been stuck in the phaser relay and torpedo compartments, with none other than Chell to keep her company as she dodged plasma bursts and relay explosions to keep the coolant system running properly as _Voyager_ fought battle after mighty battle.

It even sounded kind of heroic. By the second year in the Delta Quadrant, she had earned a reputation as a sort of weapons berserker, willing to dodge or dash through any potential explosion to get the job done. Amanda was embarrassed to think of it now. The truth was, she had only been… well, bored. After you got singed a few times, you got to know where every relay was and which ones were liable to blow when, so the risk factor just became fun and games. Chell never really got used to it, which was probably why he just hid out with the torpedo casings while she did all the _real_ work.

The injustice. Chell was now the head chef at the museum's diner (installed in the replica mess hall, of course), fixing such Delta Quadrant originals as pleeka rind soup and leola root soufflé for all the eager families who came to learn about the adventures of the _USS Voyager_. To add salt to the wound, Chell had turned out to be a wonderful cook—simply incredible. Leola had never tasted so good.

Amanda stared at her new replicator in disgust before hauling it onto her hip once more. The sharp bottom edge cut into the skin on her hip where she didn't have enough fat to offer a cushion. Amanda wrapped one arm over the top and seized the handle with her other hand, and she shoved off again through the thick midday crowds.

There! Another newsstand. Only thirty meters away. Twenty… Ten…

"Ooof!"

"Damn it!" Amanda gasped as she lost her grip on the replicator and it slid down her thigh, banged against her knee and hit the concrete at her feet, just missing her toes. The handle clanged to the ground and began bouncing down the hill. A real book—one made out of paper, not a padd—also fell to the ground with a much lighter sound.

"Shit!" she said, looking at the broken replicator then over her shoulder at the disappearing handle. It rolled and bounced away until it came to rest against the foot of a dog, who sniffed at it with a mind to mark its territory before its owner jerked it away by the leash.

"I'm so sorry," said a man's voice beside her.

"Stupid, fucking, shoddy piece of crap! Don't let this thing roll away," she ordered without so much as a glance to him as she dodged through the oncoming crowds to get the handle. A pair of Vulcan tourists were peering at it curiously by the time she got there. Whatever. She slipped between them to grab it before they could say anything to her, and she ran back up the hill where the perpetrator of the crash was desperately trying to hold onto her brand-new, now broken replicator as he tucked his book under one arm. He had a few locks of dark hair falling into his eyes, revealing the glint of a Bajoran earring dangling in the sun.

"Thanks," she mumbled before stuffing the handle into the reactor component. Amanda stooped down to pick up the replicator again.

"Are you all right?" the man asked her.

"What?"

"Would you like some help? This is a big job for you to do alone."

She stood back up quickly, letting the replicator lean against one leg. This was it, the final straw of a very, very frustrating day. "Look, maybe you're just a tourist, and maybe nobody cares, but I survived seven years traveling across this galaxy on a starship about the size of Union Square. I got shot at by Hirogen warriors. I fought the Borg. I've even carried a fucking set of transistor coils through seventy-five meters of shit-for-sticks Jeffries tubes _under fire_. I will lug one measly replicator up this hill if it kills me!"

"You curse like a sailor, too," he noted appreciatively.

"Get lost, will you?"

"I'm only trying to help," he protested. "Listen, your leg looks like it's cut. I feel awful. At least let me help you carry the replicator."

Amanda wondered. He didn't seem much older than she was. A fairly handsome kind of guy, he was squinting in the sunlight, but she could tell that he had light, gray eyes that stood out against his tanned face. He reached a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and examined her in return.

He seemed to take her silence for an invitation. "My name's Aaron. Yours?"

"That's not a Bajoran name," Amanda observed.

"Nope," he agreed. "My father named me for a friend of his, an ex-Starfleet human who helped supply the black market with food and weapons."

"Wow," Amanda said, momentarily distracted from the replicator, which was cutting into her shin.

"I'll tell you about it if you hand me the replicator," Aaron said. "And tell me your name."

She frowned. The replicator was heavy; she could use the help. "My name is Amanda. Amanda Jackson. And I'll take half."

Aaron grinned at her. "You strike a hard bargain, Amanda. Let's go."

He actually came with her all the way to the door of her apartment building, and held onto the replicator while she keyed in her codes, book still tucked under one arm. Amanda knew very well how heavy the damn thing was; his chivalry was a little embarrassing after her earlier explosion.

"I suppose I should let you have this," he said once she had opened the doors.

"Oh." Amanda didn't hesitate to take it back, but her arms seemed to be having trouble holding onto the entire weight.

"Whoa," Aaron said as her grip began to slip. "Watch out there."

What was wrong with her? She had gotten the thing _this_ far. Her arms could damn well last until she reached the top of the stairs. It's just, the sweat on her palms was ruining her grip. Not only that but once again, the doors to the lift were sporting a sign that read in the barely decipherable handwriting of the management, "Out of order."

She sighed in frustration. "I could really use your help on the stairs."

He grinned, although why she couldn't say. "It's no problem," he said. "Do you want me to go backwards up the stairs?"

"No," she scoffed. "I can do it."

What ensued was a clumsy exercise in miscommunication as the two of them struggled up two and a half flights of a narrow staircase, bumping, scraping, and leaving black marks on the walls as they went.

"Let me go backwards right here," Aaron offered when they reached the second to last landing.

"No," Amanda grunted. "Too close. I've got it."

"Too close? Here, let me--"

"No, wait!"

"I just--"

_Thump!_

Amanda was suddenly lying on her back, looking up at the water-stained ceiling. She felt the stairs digging into her back and heard the echoing sound of her poor, abused replicator bouncing down the steps and crashing into the wall.

Aaron gasped in remorse as she sat up. He had dodged out of the way, only to let the equipment come to rest on the landing below with a smallish dent in the plaster where it had collided with the wall.

"I think it broke again," he observed.

"You think?" Amanda sat there for a moment, looking at the upended machine, wondering what had happened to it with this collision. Aaron waited patiently for her to react. Despite herself, she cracked a smile.

"What?" he said.

"Oh, you know. Well, it's just…" From the overstock warehouse in Berkeley to the top of Nob Hill: it had seemed so very simple as of this morning. Now, hours later, she was bruised, sweaty, and chagrined at the money she'd spent on something which was likely nonfunctioning by now. Not bad for a morning, she thought as she laughed for the first time that week.

Aaron was watching her with an odd look on his face, like he'd just been told something he hadn't expected. There was a smile on his face, too, making a dimple in one cheek. His eyes were very hard to look away from, she noticed with a blushing face. "Well?" he said.

She rose to her feet and brushed the dust off her hands. "It's only one more flight of stairs. Come on."

"You sure? I'm wondering if that thing will sprout legs and walk back down the hill."

"You think they'd give me a refund?"

"No way. It's broken in three places."

Together, they hoisted the replicator back into the air. "I'll let you go backwards again," he said. "I think it's worth the sight of you on the floor like that. Didn't anyone ever tell you, never bring strange machinery home with you alone?"

They hobbled and bumped their way to her door. Balancing the machine against one knee, she keyed in her access code and the door slid open slowly, creaking on its runners.

She suddenly felt embarrassed again. Her tiny, tiny apartment had piles of clothes and open boxes and a desperate need of cleaning. The windows had streaks, the ceiling had cracks. There wasn't a single surface on which a guest could sit without risk of puncture wounds.

"My apartment is kind of messy," she told him. "I, um, just moved in, you know, and it's so hard to get things together in this city when you don't have access to a transporter…"

He shrugged as well as he could with a replicator in his arms. "I'm the last person to care how big your apartment is. I grew up in a refugee camp, you know."

That did make a difference. She'd seen a few of those. "That must have been a great neighborhood."

"Beautiful," he said. "The welcome mats matched the tarp on our tent."

"We can put this in the kitchen." The replicator _thumped_ against the wall as they turned the corner.

"This place ispretty small." He sniffed. "How long ago did the previous owner move out?"

Amanda flushed. "A pair of Klingons were staying here before me. They were evicted last month. It'll get better when I have time to put some of those boxes away and do a little cleaning." Aaron appeared to politely accept this, but Amanda flushed self-consciously. "Look, I spent seven years on a Federation starship. I didn't own _anything_ until I had to move here and start my life planetside, okay? It's a little hard to get organized."

Aaron nodded as they engineered their way through the kitchen door. "Hey, like I said, I'm not about to give you a hard time for living in a dump."

"Who says it's a dump!"

"It's nothing a bucket and a mop won't take care of," he said, grunting with the effort of hoisting the replicator onto the counter.

"I liked the 'fresher on my ship better," Amanda muttered. She was just glad that she'd already rooted out the small colony of gagh that had taken up residence in one of the kitchen walls. _That_ was revolting, even by Klingon standards.

"Ooof!" she said as they let go of the replicator. Fortunately, it just sat there. She'd half expected it to fall apart as soon as she let go, given how much trouble it had caused her already.

Aaron brushed off his hands. "Just think," he said. "You could've gotten the jumbo size."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for your help. I didn't make you late for something, did I?"

"No," he said. "I was just coming back from class. And anyway, it was my fault for not looking where I was going."

"Let me get you some, uh, tea," she told him. She should be hospitable, right? Amanda was twenty-five and she'd never had a real houseguest.

"I would accept," Aaron said with a careful glance around her kitchen, "but I think your replicator's broken."

Amanda shrugged and edged the machine a few inches out from the wall. "I used to be in Starfleet. I'll have it fixed in no time. And if not…"

"If not?"

"There's a kettle in one of those boxes," she called, clambering halfway onto the counter so she could see behind the replicator. Hmm. It didn't seem too bad. The casing was cracked, sure, but she didn't order this thing to win beauty contests. The only real problem that she could see was that the power relays looked like they were out of alignment, but they weren't even severed. She could fix it in no time.

"What's the prognosis?"

Amanda started. Aaron was standing less than a foot away from her, peering over her shoulder.

"Um, not too bad. Just an outpatient job. It'll be on its feet in no time."

Aaron smiled that smile again as she squeezed around him to dig for the proper tools, trying not to think about how close he was to her. Fortunately, she had gotten lots of practice on _Voyager_ fixing her own replicator when it went down, so she knew precisely what to do. She needed a hyperspanner, a Phillips screwdriver, and a mini-phase compressor… The tool box was around here somewhere…

What's more, she felt much calmer behind the replicator than in front of it, where she had no choice but to stand nose to nose with the stranger in her miniscule kitchen.

"So you were in Starfleet," he said casually. "Where were you stationed?"

She peeked over the top of the replicator. "I wasn't, exactly. I kind of got stuck on a ship by accident, and the captain decided to include me as part of her crew. You know, _Voyager_ and all that?"

"You were on _Voyager_!" he exclaimed. "Oh, wow. This is great! I can't believe this, I'm actually standing in the kitchen of one of the _Voyager_ people." Then he frowned, confused. "What do you mean about getting there by accident? Oh! You mean, you were one of the ones… You were in the Maquis?"

Amanda winced. The government may have pardoned her for all crimes committed while in the Maquis, but there were still a lot of people who did not forgive so easily. She had learned the hard way to be careful to whom she explained her past. Even to the son of a Bajoran resistance fighter who had carried her replicator up the hill and two flights of stairs.

Aaron didn't seem to mind, though, to her relief. He just seemed surprised. "Well, that sounds like one hell of an adventure."

"You could call it that." Amanda hid behind the replicator again.

"I'd love to hear about it sometime."

"Oh, it's nothing," she scoffed. "I mean, I was just one of the weapons maintenance people. It wasn't exactly glorious. Not for me, anyway."

"I'm sure you must have _some_ stories about all the people you met, all the places you've seen…"

"Not really," she said, thinking of one or two spots she knew she'd never forget. The void that trapped their ship for nearly three weeks; that gorgeous, resort-like planet with three suns… or the look in the eyes of the costumed Hirogen soldier who nearly shot her dead when the hunting vessel took over _Voyager _and reprogrammed the crew…

"Oh, come on. Let me take you to dinner sometime. You can tell me all about it."

Amanda dropped the mini-phase compressor on her foot.

He ignored her surprised curse. "Seriously, would you like to have dinner sometime?" Aaron said. "I mean, in a restaurant. In case your Starfleet experience isn't extensive enough to fix that replicator."

Amanda felt like she was standing in front of that Hirogen soldier all over again: she was utterly disarmed. "Well… sure. But I _can_ fix my replicator, you know."

He grinned. "I believe you."

Amanda had the distinct impression he was making fun of her. But still, she couldn't help smiling just a little in return. Dinner, huh? Well. It might be kind of fun.

She bent back behind the replicator and used the wrench to nudge the last relay back into place. There!

"Good as new!" she pronounced. B'Elanna would be proud.

"Good as new, if you don't count the crack up the side," Aaron noted.

Amanda shrugged off his high standards. "Fits the decor. Half my apartment is secondhand." She punched in the fairly complex codes for a cup of leola root tea. If this replicator could make a cup of leola tea, then it could make anything.

To her delight, the tea materialized, with the appropriate smell wafting into her kitchen. "Here," she said, handing it to Aaron proudly. "A Delta Quadrant delicacy."

He accepted and took a careful sip of the stuff. He frowned, disconcerted at the bitter taste.

Amanda recognized that look. "It just takes a little getting used to. But you don't have to drink it! I can get you something else…"

"It's fine," he said, laughing at her. "Just not something I've had before. Hey, I'll return the favor. I can take you to my favorite Bajoran restaurant. The chef there cooks a hasperat that will make your toes curl."

"Is that a good thing?" Amanda said.

"Absolutely. How's Saturday? I'll come by at six o'clock."

Oh. He was serious! Another jolt of surprise. "I guess I'm free." What was going on here? This was the man who broke her replicator. And now he was taking her out? On a _date_? But she was Amanda Jackson. She didn't _go _on dates.

Aaron didn't seem to have noticed that. He just flashed her a smile and handed her his teacup before retrieving his book from the top of one of her boxes. "I'll look forward to it."

Amanda took that as her signal to walk with him to her door. "Thanks for everything," she said. This suddenly felt almost as awkward as that horrible mistake she made with the Lieutenant, back on _Voyager_. Oh, please, she thought. Not again.

But Aaron had just asked _her_ out, hadn't he? That was something.

He turned back to her, just before leaving her flat. "Are you sure I should leave you alone like this with that replicator?" Aaron said. "You don't know what that thing will try now that it knows you're by yourself."

"Don't worry, I'm armed," Amanda told him, pointing to her hyperspanner.

"See you Saturday." Aaron grinned and headed on his way. Amanda watched him go down the stairs. Her cheeks reddened when he threw her one last look on his way down. She didn't know anything about him.

* * *

And so Amanda's life as a Federation citizen began in earnest. The apartment was a mess, broken replicator and all, and her life was just as disorganized if not more… but it was her life, and she had little to do besides try and make it work. Even the replicator.

She had found a little work in San Francisco as a science tutor for local school kids. When a teacher or parent learned she had been on _Voyager_, they would practically beg for her services, as if living in the Delta Quadrant for seven years made her an expert in quantum mechanics. It didn't, actually; Amanda just happened to have a knack for complex temporal concepts. Anyway, the tutoring plus the occasional temp gig kept a roof over her head, and it gave her the time she needed to work on a project of her own.

She had just under three months until the application deadline to Starfleet Academy. She hadn't told a soul she was applying. That made securing recommendations a little difficult, but she kept telling herself she would contact B'Elanna or Chakotay when it was time. It was too bad she didn't feel safe asking any of the commissioned officers, but maybe her _Voyager_ record would help her out in that regard. In any case, every night it seemed she had something to do, some form to fill out or some essay to write—or some equivalency test to register for. If only she'd had the chance to finish school, like everyone else.

And if life weren't complicated enough, now there was this Aaron. Aaron seemed very nice, of course, and after twenty-five years of never having had a real date with a single soul, the idea appealed to her. She just didn't know what to do about it. She would even have played it safe and cancelled their date out of sheer panic, except he hadn't given her his number before leaving.

It all fit, she supposed. The Cardassians hadn't called ahead before arriving on her family's front doorstep. The Maquis hadn't asked her permission before swooping in and saving her life. The Caretaker hadn't bothered to say "please" before ripping them seventy thousand light-years away and leaving them stranded on a Starfleet ship. So why should this Aaron have any compunction about showing up now, when the gorgeous, affluent surroundings of the Bay Area only made her life seem that much more in shambles? Timing had never been her thing.

In spite of herself, Amanda found herself preoccupied with the prospect. She even took an afternoon off to visit Union Square in search of a dress. That by itself was remarkable, she reflected as she dodged tourists and San Franciscans alike on her way through the busy streets. Shopping was one more thing on her list of things she didn't know how to do. When had she ever had the chance? A few opportunities during shore leave, maybe. So for a few hours Amanda wandered past the windows full of _haute couture_, baffled by the thought that some of these things actually could be hers. If she could afford any of it.

Luck eventually led her to a tiny store not far from Union Square where she spied a dress (on sale!) that she thought might just work. The knee-length hem covered up that ugly scar on her thigh from that old Maquis raid, and the deep red color set off the highlights in her long auburn hair. Plus, the neckline was cut low enough to make up for a few of those years when she had donned the comfortable but very chaste Starfleet uniform, day after day.

In the store, she felt herself turning a shade dark enough to match the smooth fabric as she turned a little on one heel to see herself in the mirror. She didn't really recognize herself. She looked, well, good.

The tailor, a short Bolian fellow, simply clucked with delight when he saw her and brought a shopping bag to her side. She couldn't say no.

That week she also received a formal letter—on paper, no less!—notifying her of her official pardon. There was an ink signature by a member of the president's cabinet and everything! All for her.

So, her Maquis days were truly over now.

Amanda had never been good at keeping still. When the letter came, it was as if she didn't know how to process it—it was so important, and yet nobody else was around to agree with her, to congratulate her. In a fit of happy desperation, she grabbed the nearest pair of shoes and walked outside to the city streets, where a sliver of afternoon sunshine poked through the tall buildings. In her excitement, she skipped and rushed all the way through the Tenderloin, where entire families of immigrants lived cheek-by-jowl in tiny apartments not much larger than hers, and to the northern end of the Inner Mission before her pulse slowed.

She took stock, and felt a little silly standing around in her fancy sandals that she'd bought to go with the lovely dress. Around her, people and more people bustled along, immersed in their city lives. Amanda still felt an anxious buzz—shouldn't she do something now? Speak to someone?

Of course not. The official pardon meant that everyone would leave her alone now.

That thought, which came to her as she stood adrift in the busy streets of the Mission, felt somehow unfair.

A deep breath. Amanda knew she had to do something. She'd left her money at home—living on a starship meant you tended to forget your clothes actually had pockets—but she had a letter in her hand, shoes on her feet. She'd exhausted the euphoria of the moment; now she'd have to trudge back home and… well… keep going.

* * *

The evening of the dinner with Aaron finally arrived. She supressed the urge to call Jor and ask for advice on how to wear her hair. Guiltily, she realized she hadn't spoken with her former roommate since soon _Voyager_ came home. Jor had run off to Bajor almost right away, while Amanda had remained at Starfleet Headquarters in the safety of the temporary 'Fleet housing. She wondered what her old bunkmate was doing these days, and if Jor ever thought of her.

At 1700 that day—or 5:00 p.m., rather, in civilian terms—Amanda stared herself down in the mirror. She had an hour before Aaron was to come by. Her hair was a mess, she could smell her own armpits, and the apartment was still a mess, despite an afternoon of heavy tidying. In a fit of panic, Amanda set the shower as hot as she could stand it and leapt in to clear her mind.

The next fifty-nine minutes felt like the best workout she'd gotten in weeks as she cleaned, brushed, and spruced herself up. Twelve of those minutes were spent in front of the replicator, trying to decipher the nuances of wearing perfume on a first date. (She chose not to risk it on a cracked replicator. Who knows what she might have ended up smelling like?)

Her door chime sounded at exactly one minute to six o'clock. Amanda jumped. She felt like she should have her mother or Jor or someone there to answer the door. She hurried awkwardly into the sandals and dashed the four steps to the door. She had to punch the door code three times because she kept mis-keying it out of nerves. Finally, the door opened.

It was Ricky, her humanoid (but certainly not human) repairman. "Hallo!" he shouted.

Ricky was either a little deaf or thought that speaking louder would facilitate communication. The man had long since eschewed all use of a universal translator, for reasons that were beyond Amanda. His accent was so strong and his grammar so weak that understanding him was often a challenge, and Amanda had no clue where he was from. He just called himself Ricky and came by her apartment on occasion to help her out. Most days, Amanda just chalked it up to the general weirdness of living in San Francisco.

Ricky's eyes glinted cheerfully at her from a wrinkled yet ageless humanoid face as a set of purplish gills on his neck waved in the air. "You still have gagh?" he yelled.

It took her a moment, but then Amanda recalled mentioning the gagh infestation to him two weeks before. She smiled wanly. Ricky was very kind, but this wasn't the time. "No, Ricky," she said. "I got rid of them myself." She was never sure if she was speaking loudly enough.

Ricky's eyebrows rose in dismay. "What!" he demanded. "I take care of problem for you. All problems! Girls donno like gagh, yes?"

She frowned. "I don't eat it, but I can kill it."

"Here," Ricky said. "I come check walls again for you." He bustled past her into the apartment, his oversized repair kit banging against the wall and leaving a mark.

"Ricky, I really don't have the time right now," she said, following him.

"Is okay!" he hollered from the kitchen over several clangs and clanks. "I donno take long. So what you look pretty for tonight?"

"Excuse me?" a new voice said.

She turned around to see Aaron standing in her doorway, dressed in a dark shirt and a nice jacket. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" he said curiously.

Amanda felt her heart leap into her throat. "Come in," she said. "My repairman has just laid siege to my kitchen."

"I thought you fixed the replicator."

She ignored him and went into the kitchen, where Ricky had jerked her replicator away from the wall and was studying the tiny fissures in the wall's surface with a red laser. "They come out if they there," he explained, for once below 75 decibels. "Gagh don't like this light."

A fount of useful knowledge, that's what this man was. But at the moment, he was also in her way.

"Ricky, I have to leave," she said. "Can you let yourself out?"

Ricky turned around. He noticed Aaron standing past her shoulder. "Ohh," he breathed loudly, his gills twittering with the exhalation. Amanda thought that denoted surprise, or maybe disappointment, but she wasn't sure. "You have hot date?" he queried.

Amanda cringed. "I'm going out to dinner, yes," she said.

Ricky nodded gravely and gathered up his things with appropriate haste and apologies. But before he left, he addressed Aaron directly. "You take care!" he warned Aaron. "I watch around! You don't act bad to any girl here! You hear?"

The top of Ricky's head barely met Aaron's chin, but to his credit, Aaron nodded gravely. "I'll be very careful," he promised.

"Good," Ricky said forcefully, pushed past Aaron, and stalked out of the apartment without closing the door.

"Thank you, Ricky!" she called.

Aaron peered after him. "Who was that man? Should I be worried?"

Amanda blushed. This was not the entrance she had planned! "Maybe. I heard that Ricky once beat the shit out of a Vulcan in heat who came knocking on the wrong door. Ricky may look tiny, but he's very… assertive."

"A regular Mrs. Madrigal! Did he leave a joint on your doorknob, too?"

"Who? What?"

"Never read _Tales of the City_?"

"Is that a book?"

Aaron grinned. She blushed as he only sort of discreetly eyed her dress. "Let's go. We have reservations in fifteen minutes."

"Where are we going?" she said. Her heart jumped; it was time to be nervous now.

"Not far," he said. "It's just a quick walk uphill."

"Everything's a walk uphill," she said. "This is San Francisco."

"True. This your coat?" he pointed to the black garment hanging on the door hook.

Amanda nodded, and let him hand it to her. She thanked him and followed him out, hoping she could survive the night intact.

* * *

She more or less achieved that, as it turned out.

They dined at a Bajoran bistro, as Aaron had promised her. The establishment was tucked away in an alley not far from Chinatown, in a nondescript building designed to hide itself from the waves of interstellar tourists who flooded the city each year. Nonetheless, the two dining rooms were packed with diners, mostly Bajorans but a few other humanoids as well.

Amanda reminded herself of all the Bajoran campfire meals she'd eaten with no trouble. Aside from the horrendously spicy dishes prepared by Gerron, whose native region disdained jalapenos as too bland for consumption, Amanda liked most of what she'd tasted. So she would probably be okay, right? If only she recognized the writing on the menu…

Aaron at least seemed relaxed, although she didn't really know him well enough to tell. He had a low, pleasant voice, and she noticed the same dimple appear on one cheek whenever he laughed. He kept the conversation moving as they waited for their meal, asking her about work, mentioning _Voyager_ but not prying, and other small talk. Amanda even liked it, kind of.

At one point, Aaron leaned forward conspiratorially. "Can I ask the big question?" he said with a glance to either side.

Amanda looked around, too. The other people in the restaurant were just minding their own meals. "What?"

"How did you get to be in the Maquis?" he asked. "Or is that too personal for a first date?"

She blanched. How was she supposed to answer him? She had never said anything about that without breaking down in tears, and so for the last seven years she had opted not to talk about it at all. Amanda bit her lip, trying to think of a joke that would gracefully deflect the question.

After only a moment's awkward silence, however, Amanda was saved by the arrival of a steaming platter of… of… _something_ orange.

Aaron smacked his lips as an equally big platter of brown and green leafy clumps was set before him. "I'm going to enjoy this," he said. "I have to congratulate you, by the way. Very few non-Bajorans are willing to try _galdatar_. It's a little piquant."

Amanda smelled at her meal as if she knew exactly what it was. "My roommate on _Voyager_ was Bajoran," she said offhandedly. "I picked up a few things from her." She eyed the platter of "galdatar." It wasn't moving; that was a good thing. It smelled like it had been cooked on a wood-burning stove. That meant it was probably meat?

Nothing for it. With a brave smile, she picked up her fork, severed off a piece, and shoved it in her mouth.

And thought her tongue might explode. It was unbelievably spicy—no, more than that. It was like a photon torpedo had gone off in her mouth. Amanda closed her eyes in grim concentration as she forced herself to swallow.

"Mmm!" she said to Aaron, unwilling to admit exactly how much pain she was experiencing. He watched her with fascination, and she smiled back. "Haven't had… galdatar… this good in a long time!" she said around a gagging throat. The violent sensations in her mouth had now transferred themselves to her upper digestive track. Ohhhhh, no…

She had to get out of here. Amanda dropped her fork on her plate.

"You know what?" she said suddenly. "I am so sorry, but I forgot… um, I forgot to, um. I… Shit. I'll be back!"

She dashed out of their booth and ran to the restroom, barely making it in time to lose the mouthful she'd just swallowed into the nearest toilet. The food seared going up as much as it had going down.

Amanda quickly flushed the toilet before she had a chance to see the galdatar on its second appearance. She lurched to the sinks and gulped as much water from her hands as she could, then slowly stood up.

Okay, so the galdatar wasn't very good. Now she knew.

While she was hardly an expert, Amanda was willing to bet that throwing up in your date's favorite restaurant was probably not the way to go. Should she send the galdatar back to the kitchen? What would Aaron say? She didn't want to insult him, but there was no way she could choke down the rest of it.

She stood there in the tiny bathroom for a moment as her stomach tried to settle. Oh, no. Plasma leaks, failed electromagnetic connections, anything. Anything was better than puking on a first date.

Well, she couldn't hide in here forever. She might as well go and face her punishment like a grown woman. She took a glance in the mirror, nodded once to brace herself, plunged back through the door, and ran smack into someone's chest.

"Hey!" said the man.

She looked up, and against all odds, she knew him. Blue eyes, sandy hair, friendly grin: it was Tom Paris, the former lieutenant of _Voyager_. He recognized her, too. "Amanda Jackson? Is that you?"

Just when you thought it couldn't get worse… Amanda lifted a hand to make sure there wasn't any vomit left on her chin.

"Lieutenant," she said weakly.

His eyebrows twitched in surprise. "Now there's a title I haven't heard in a few months!" he joked. "Jackson! I can't believe this. And here, in a Bajoran restaurant in San Francisco, of all places. Wow! I thought this only happened in New York or on Riza or whatever." Tom clapped her on the shoulder.

She lurched against him to keep her balance.

"Whoa!" said Tom, catching her. "Are you okay, Jackson?"

She clenched her eyes shut. "My meal didn't agree with me."

Tom winced sympathetically. "It was the galdatar, wasn't it?" he said. "Never try the galdatar. I did that once on a dare, before _Voyager_. Wouldn't recommend it!"

Amanda took a deep breath. Dignity—she had to have _some _left. Even if she was standing outside the bathrooms of a restaurant with an upset stomach, against all odds talking to a former crush while her first date ever waited at the table for her to return to finish off a fairly poisonous meal.

"I'll be fine," she announced.

Tom nodded. "Good. I'd hate to have a medical emergency in Tolla's Bistro, of all places. So what are you doing here?"

"I'm eating," she said. _Dumb answer. Of course she was eating. _"I'm, um, here with a friend."

"Oh! Anyone I'd know?"

God, did he have to be so curious and friendly? She used to like it, but it only embarrassed her now. "No," she said. "Somebody I met since we got back."

Tom looked at her expectantly. She stared back dumbly for a moment before figuring out her next line.

"How's B'Elanna?" she asked. "And Miral?"

Tom grinned. "They're great. Thanks for asking."

_My pleasure, _she thought. And naturally, Tom was one of those proud daddies who could talk forever. Amanda's eyes began to glaze over after about twenty seconds.

"I gave the ladies some time together tonight," he was saying. "B'Elanna's been working so much, she doesn't always get a lot of time with the baby, so they took the night off together. You should see her, she's really doing great these days."

"Who, B'Elanna?"

Tom laughed. "Her, too. I meant Miral. She'll grab your finger and squeeze—it's adorable! Anyway, I'm meeting with a couple Starfleet types tonight. They want to hear all about the Delta Flyer design process… I'm just trying to survive the evening," he said confidentially.

"Me, too," Amanda commiserated.

"Yeah, well, you don't have two of your father's best friends grilling you on whether or not you followed protocol four years ago!" Tom pointed out.

Amanda nodded half-heartedly. No, she certainly didn't.

"I should get back to my table," she said.

"Oh! Of course," Tom said. "Say, you should drop us a line sometime. I'm sure B'Elanna would love to hear from you. Come to dinner at our place! I promise we won't serve galdatar!"

"Okay," Amanda said, faking a smile.

"Great seeing you," Tom said, patting her on the shoulder more gently this time, and disappeared into the men's room.

Amanda was almost afraid to turn the corner for fear of what _else _might be there, waiting to ruin the evening further.

In fact, so miserable was she by this point that she simply slunk back to her table and sat down without looking at Aaron. She reached for her fork again, wondering if she shouldn't just save herself from further embarrassment and plunge the utensil into her jugular.

Then she noticed that something was different. The food on her fork wasn't orange anymore.

She looked up at Aaron, who was shoveling a hefty forkful of galdatar into his mouth. He had switched the plates. "I'm really sorry about that," he said. "I should've warned you about the galdatar. Bajorans have a unique enzyme in our saliva that allows us to digest this stuff. Occasionally other species can build up a tolerance, but I shouldn't have assumed that… Well, you know."

Amanda felt her lower lip quiver. He even seemed embarrassed for her.

"Hey, are you okay?" he said, reaching across the table to touch her hand.

Amanda couldn't speak. She couldn't even hold her fork. For some all-too-explainable reason, she burst into heaving, slobbery tears.

* * *

"Then if you can believe it, she stood up and tossed my beer in my face before storming out. All because of a little slip of the tongue!"

Despite herself, Amanda laughed at Aaron's story. "You did tell her that you liked her, um, enhancement surgery. You're really not supposed to say that to a woman."

"True," he admitted. "Which makes _my_ disastrous date story worse than yours." He smacked his hands playfully against the railing that lined the walkways along the piers of Fort Mason. Shortly after Amanda's near-hysterical outburst, they'd left the bistro, and Aaron convinced her to walk for a few more minutes so she could calm down. It had turned into a pleasant evening stroll all the way to the Marina, and Amanda had to admit she was finally having a decent time.

"I still don't see why running into your former boss was so awful. He looked like a nice enough guy," Aaron said.

Amanda sighed. Well, he'd already made her laugh at herself about the first part of the evening. Why not tell him the rest? "For starters, he wasn't exactly my boss. He was just one of the officers on _Voyager_. My boss is now his wife. And I never saw her much. I was just down in the belly of the ship doing repair work most of the time."

"Sounds like a lot of fun," Aaron said.

"I wouldn't call it that!" It was a sore point for Amanda that she'd never mentioned to anyone. In the Maquis, she'd believed that B'Elanna had liked her, maybe even respected her. Then as soon as they came on _Voyager_, Amanda was shunned into the deepest depths of the ship. With Chell.

"Then you missed a great opportunity. That far from authority? Tell me you didn't sneak a few parties in between your repair jobs."

Amanda forced a half-smile. "Maybe I should have."

"Yeah?"

"When we first… got stranded, we thought it would be seventy-five years. Most of the crew partied really hard, had a lot of sex…" Her face reddened again. "They went a little crazy for a year or two. I was just a teenager, though. They left me alone."

What else could she say? She didn't really want to tell Aaron about her disastrous relationship with Tom Paris that set off the whole thing. No, not a relationship—it was more like a one-sided fling, and she'd been doing all the flinging. The lieutenant hadn't even noticed.

Amanda was never formally introduced to Tom Paris. She heard about him in six different ways during her first week on _Voyager_, though. That was when the Maquis were still the Maquis, and suspicious of anything that hadn't committed at least three acts of felony against the Federation. By the time things had settled down a bit and the crew began to socialize with the "other half," people were beyond introductions.

Tom Paris certainly socialized a lot. Back then, Amanda was what—seventeen, eighteen years old? Practically a baby compared to most of the crew. That, and she'd missed half of her teenage years thanks to the Cardassians. No family, no formal schooling past the ninth grade, and no boys taking her out on dates. She just wasn't prepared to live in a community of adults. Part of Amanda was still hoping to go to the prom someday.

So one day when Jor took her to the holodeck to meet some people for a few rounds of pool, Amanda couldn't believe it when Tom Paris—a _senior officer_—took it upon himself to give her a quick tutorial in how to shoot pool. Leaning over her, his hands covering hers around the cue, his breath tickling her ear, he flashed her a relaxed grin when she looked up at him in surprise.

"You okay?" he said.

She nodded and tried to act normal, like this wasn't anything that hadn't happened to her a million times before. She told herself to try and remember what it felt like on nights when she had to cram in between her fellow Maquis for warmth—the circumstances then meant that she wasn't nervous about them, just the possibility of getting caught by a bunch of murderous Cardassians. So she stuck her chin up and convinced herself that she didn't look nervous, and that Ayala wasn't looking at Tom Paris as though he would've slugged him if they weren't both officers now. She was an adult, Amanda told herself. This was totally normal.

And if she didn't tell anyone, at least not right away, then it was okay for her to lie awake that night with a warm, tingling feel in her stomach. There was nothing wrong with letting her imagination have a little fun with this, right? It was the first time she'd ever had a boy—a _man_—pay any attention to her, unless she counted Davy Brinkman in the seventh grade, and she didn't.

The next few days, when Tom saw her in the corridors, he would flash her a grin, even if he was walking with someone like Commander Chakotay, who knew her very well but would only give her a formal nod nowadays. It even made being down in the relay compartment not so bad, because now she had something—someone—to daydream about.

It only got better from there. One evening in the mess, Tom Paris actually came and sat at her table! She was eating with Tabor and Meghan that night; neither of them were friends with Tom Paris, were they? And then after another day or two, he actually stopped her on her way to engineering and invited her _personally_ to a party he and Harry were throwing on the holodeck the next night. She could have fainted.

Hindsight screamed at her that it was only friendship, but Amanda supposed that she had wanted something to happen so badly that she'd let herself get carried away.

In any case, she went to the party—some kind of beach program. When she got there, dressed in a casual tank top and shorts, Tom actually looked up from where he stood chatting with a few of his pilots and waved her over.

Heart pounding, she crossed and met him halfway, glaring in the artificial sunlight and the glare from the white sands and ocean water.

"It's a little sunny for 1900 hours, you know," she said, pointing at the high-noon sun.

"We're on a starship," he returned with a grin that lit up his eyes. "Does anybody really keep time anymore?" He gave her a sideways welcome hug.

"Um, it looks like a fun party."

"It is! So why don't you replicate yourself a swimsuit and dive in?"

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know people would be swimming." That was dumb.

If he thought so, Tom didn't let on. "Come on. Do it. I bet you'd look great in a two-piece, anyway."

Amanda blushed. "Okay."

He just laughed. "Some of us are thinking about playing volleyball in a bit. Come and join us when we set up the net."

"Sure."

"Sounds great. Now go have some fun." And he walked back to his friends.

Amanda did have fun that night. She replicated herself a swimsuit and hoped it looked okay. Everyone there played volleyball for a while, and she didn't feel bad that she couldn't play very well, because everyone around her was missing shots and laughing about it, too. She even had one of those slushy drinks—at _Tom's _suggestion—a "margarita." It left her with a dizzying sort of buzz, centered right in the bridge of her nose.

Jor was there, too, and saw her with the drink in her hand. "What's that?" her roommate said with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a mar-ga-rita," Amanda said, feeling exotic.

"And the suit? Looks like you're having a good time, kiddo."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Amanda asked coolly. "Anyway, I've only had one drink."

Jor shook her head. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want you getting hurt."

Amanda felt offended that Jor would even suggest that she wasn't in complete control. "Stop that. I'm having a good time, okay?" She flipped a loose strand of hair out of her face with one hand and returned to the game.

That night when she was falling asleep, _well_ beyond her normal bedtime, an idea occurred to her. She felt that it was clear how Tom felt about her. So why not urge him on, just a little bit? This wasn't the twentieth century—she didn't have to wait for a guy to ask her out. She had _hours_ of unused holodeck time. They could have a nice, romantic dinner, and maybe even a nighttime stroll along the same beach where they had partied together.

She wanted to be careful about asking him. Amanda waited a day or two, and she watched him carefully in the mess hall. It would be so embarrassing to ask him in front of other people—or worse, in front of one of the senior officers. She would never live that down. It had to be just right.

Finally, she had her chance. She had already designed her program, late at night in her quarters after Jor had gone to sleep. She had reserved the holodeck time: three long hours to enjoy themselves in each other's company. And that night, in the mess, Tom was sitting by himself, working on a padd. Perfect.

She took a deep breath and set one foot in front of the other until she was standing in front of him. He didn't notice her at first.

"Hi," she said timidly.

He looked up, a little startled. "Oh, hi, Jackson. How's it going?" He smiled.

"I'm good," she said. "I was wondering, um. Are you free tomorrow night?" She felt her face flush to the roots of her hair as she said it.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Tomorrow? I guess so. Why?"

"Would you like to have dinner? I mean, nothing big. Just a little something." She felt a cramp in one foot from clenching her toes so hard out of nervousness.

Tom blinked. "Uh, yeah. Okay."

Amanda thought her heart would leap through her throat. "Great. Is 1930 okay?"

"Yeah. Sure," he shrugged.

"Okay. I'll see you then. Holodeck two." And she skipped away before he could say no.

The next night couldn't come fast enough. She spent almost all of her remaining credits on a dress that was as low as she could stand it and not get embarrassed—which was to say, not that low at all. She even got some nice shoes, let down her hair, and sprayed it with a chemical that held it in place, even if it did stink up their quarters.

"Hey, watch it," Jor said, waving the particles out of her face. "You're spraying up the room! What's the big deal, anyway?"

"I have a date," Amanda announced.

"You do?"

Amanda felt hurt that Jor would doubt her. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing!" Jor assured her. "With whom, exactly?"

Amanda bit her lip. "Promise you won't tell?"

Jor rolled her eyes. "Sweetie, I'm twenty-six in human years. Not thirteen. Now tell me."

"Okay." Amanda took a deep breath. "I asked Tom Paris to dinner."

Jor did a double take. "You did what?"

"I asked Tom Paris to dinner. What's the matter?"

"Tom Paris. Lieutenant. Senior officer."

"Yes," Amanda said. "It's a free ship, when we're off duty. Right?"

Jor nodded. "Sure it is. You remember that he sold out the Maquis, right?"

"Look, you don't have to approve of everything I do around her," Amanda snapped. "It's not like you're my mother, or even my sister."

"Sweetie, I'm not trying to—"

"And don't call me 'sweetie!' I'm just trying to enjoy myself for the next seventy-five years. I'm not doing anything wrong."

"Amanda," Jor said. "Think about this for a minute."

"I don't have to!" Amanda said. "I'm going now. Have a good night." And she stormed out.

* * *

She arrived at the holodeck fifteen minutes early and began to key in her commands. The program was in order, and it just needed a few last-minute touches. The meal: hmmm. She didn't know what Tom liked, beyond the barbecue from the beach party. But she was dressed kind of nice for that. She supposed she'd provide the menu and just let him decide. She, on the other hand, wanted a fine meal. Salmon steaks… buttered vegetables… whipped potatoes… warm bread… How long had it been since she'd had a feast like that? Years! As a last minute detail, she even requested a little wine, although she let the computer select the variety.

Amanda stepped inside. Oh, it was perfect! She had replaced the kiosk on the beach with a much larger gazebo and a dinner table for two in the middle. (She didn't know where the waiters were supposed to come from, but this was fantasy. They could come out of the bushes, for all she cared.) The waves were washing ashore at low tide, and the sun had just set. The wind was calmly blowing the grass on the dunes and the little flame of the candle that sat atop the table in the gazebo.

She walked up the wooden steps, enjoying the smell. She didn't remember programming any scents; those must be automatic with a wood structure. She'd have to remember that—for _next _time!

One last thought occurred to her. Well, why not? She hurried back to the control panel by the doorway and programmed the computer to produce one red rose across his waiting plate. He might laugh at her, but she was sure he wouldn't mind.

Finally, 1930 rolled around, and the holodeck doors opened. He was right on time.

He was in his uniform. That was fine—formal enough for tonight. He took a quick look around and marched up to the gazebo. "Hi, Jackson," he said.

She smiled up at him. "Hi! How was your day?"

"What? Oh, it was fine." He seemed distracted somehow. They he noticed the rose and picked it up. "Is this for me?"

She nodded. "It's kind of silly, I guess, but I thought you might like it."

"It's nice. Thanks." Then he took a deep breath. "Look, Jackson, I don't think I can do this tonight."

She waited for him to crack a joke or to say he was kidding. He didn't. "Oh," she said. "You… You're busy?"

"Kind of." He winced. "Look, I guess I've been a little too friendly lately. I don't know, it's the first time in forever that I've had any friends, and I must have gone overboard. So I can see why you might have thought that I… that I meant…"

Amanda waited for him to finish, since she didn't know what to say.

"It's not that I don't think you're a great girl, Jackson," he said. "But I don't want you to spend your credits on me, thinking that I'm going to be able to let this become something. I mean, if that's not what you're thinking, then…"

She shook her head, not sure what that meant.

Tom winced again. "Okay. Well, I'm glad you understand."

She didn't. "Is it the officer thing?" she asked, trying to keep her voice normal.

"Partly. And also, well, I'm a lot older than you, Jackson. Maybe it doesn't seem like it, but I've been around the block a few times."

"What do you call the Maquis?"

He nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry, I'm not trying to talk down to you. But I just don't think… Hell. I just don't want to lead you on. I'm sorry if I was doing that."

Amanda looked down at her hands and didn't say anything. She didn't trust herself to speak.

"Thanks," Tom said uselessly. "This was a great idea… So, thanks." In her peripheral vision, she saw him leave the holodeck.

He hadn't even sat down.

* * *

Amanda actually stayed in the holodeck for two more hours, just so she wouldn't have to return home and tell Jor how it went. Anything so she didn't have to hear her roommate say, "I told you so." She didn't eat the meal she had planned—she didn't want to spend the credits. Crewmen got so few as it was… So she just sat there for part of the time. And she went down to the beach and sat in the sand and cried for a little bit, listening to the ocean waves wash against the beach.

Eventually, she heard the computer signal her fifteen-minute warning and decided it was safe to return. Before leaving the holodeck, though, she replicated herself a uniform and discarded her dress. That way, no one would see her in the corridors looking nice.

Amanda snuck into her quarters, hoping Jor would be asleep. No such luck. Jor looked up from the padd and eyed Amanda's uniform. "How did it go?" she asked, her mouth in a tight frown.

"Fine," Amanda said brightly. "I had to run by my post for a minute after we were done. But it was fine."

She quickly changed into her only set of nightclothes and scrambled into bed before Jor could ask her anything else. As silently as possible, she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Amanda had never been glad to be all but alone in the belly of the ship until now. She didn't want to face anyone, least of all any of the officers. She didn't want to admit to anyone how wrong she had been, or for them to know how stupid she had been to assume that Tom Paris might actually… have cared about her…

During the days she hid at her post and tried not to think about it. When she wasn't working, she would hurry to the mess hall, grab some food, and hurry back to their quarters. She told Jor she just wanted to read, and silently hoped the woman wouldn't ask her any more questions. And aside from her roommate, there really wasn't anyone else who might care to ask. For now, she was safe.

It even got to be a sort of comforting, if lonely, ritual. At least if she was alone, then nobody would look at her and think how young she was or feel sorry for her. Amanda kept this up for almost ten whole days.

On the tenth day, she was minding her post, idly fiddling with the plasma levels in the nearby flux capacitor, when the klaxons began blaring. They scared her so badly she dropped the hyperspanner she'd been twirling between her fingers, but she quickly found her nerve again. She knew what to do.

Without hesitation, she made her way into the primary access chamber, where Chell had already stationed himself. He looked at her with wide eyes. "It's a red alert!" he informed her anxiously.

What _else _would it be? She ignored him and went to her station. She checked the primary coolant and plasma levels, and waited for something to change, as it invariably did during a red alert.

She didn't have to wait long. Below them, a plasma conduit busted apart, sending pulses of horrendously hot fumes into the chamber below. The environmental controls quickly compensated for the radical change in temperature, though, so they weren't at immediate risk.

"We're safe!" Chell shouted over the sharp hissing. "It's below us."

"I know, I can see that," she snapped. Red alert notwithstanding, he looked at her in surprise. She had never been anything less than polite to him before, no matter how much he annoyed her.

But after a minute, it became clear that they were not fine after all. "Bridge to maintenance hold 14-beta," came Tuvok's even voice over the comm system.

"Here, sir!" Chell answered.

"Our torpedo launchers have been disabled. Are you in a position to reestablish control to the weapons system?"

"No, sir! There's a plasma leak just below us. We can't get there unless you beam someone in, and not without an environmental suit would you—"

"Please ascertain the situation more specifically, Crewman," Tuvok requested.

Chell answered, but Amanda wasn't listening. She was staring down the access tube to where the plasma was shooting out. It was coming at very regular intervals; the weapons systems required only a limited amount of energy, and so the injectors shot plasma into the launchers only once every two seconds. The injectors were still working perfectly, and two seconds was enough time…

It seemed amazingly simple. She had done this kind of thing a hundred times before in normal conditions. In this instance, she only had to shut off the plasma flow, realign the correct power couplings to the launchers, and get the injectors back on line with the conduit in the proper channel. In other words, about twenty seconds if she broke it up so as to avoid being scorched alive in the plasma stream below her.

The thing was, she could do it.

Wait. She was crazy. She could get killed.

But then, if they didn't have those torpedoes, then they would _all _be killed. And as Tuvok had told her before, the needs of the many…

Outweighed the needs of the few, or the one. She was the one. The girl on board that no one noticed. And just past that bursting relay was the solution that they all needed. If she got hurt, then someone would save her. If she died, it would be fast.

It seemed crazy that she could even think about it like this. Self-pity was one thing. Was this what it felt like to be suicidal? She didn't think so. She just saw what had to be done and how she needed to do it, right there—and somehow, the plasma didn't look very frightening at this moment. She also had so very little to lose.

She seized Chell's arm. "I'm going in. Tell Tuvok to fire on my signal."

"What!" the Bolian man cried. But it was too late—she was gone. She jumped down the access tube and flattened herself on the deck as the plasma burst above her.

Okay. Step one, safe. Step two, disconnect that damn plasma. She reached up and with all her strength, yanked the manual lever down so that the relay was closed. It worked—step two and she was safe.

She ripped off the paneling and began digging through the circuitry. There it was: the single blown coupling. The spares were right where they needed to be, so she tore out the bad coupling and attached the new one, ignoring the singe on her fingertips as she did so. She grabbed a wire from the deck, flung there after the initial explosion, and tested the coupling. The spark in her face told her it worked. Step three, safe.

Amanda scrambled to where the injector had come loose from the casing. With various spare parts, she smacked at it until it went back into place. The ship lurched to the side as she did so, sending her against the opposite bulkhead. "Shit!" she gasped. That could have been bad if it had gone the other way. But it meant she had to hurry; there was no time to fuse the injector back into place. She checked the conduit, saw that it was as good as she was going to get it, and looked up to Chell. Step four, safe.

"Chell!" she shouted. "_Now!_" And she hurried away from the plasma stream that might still blow up in her face. Strangely enough, a gleeful laugh even escaped her mouth as she dodged into the far corner.

Tuvok had received her signal. She saw the torpedo launcher grow red, then blue, then white in the two seconds it took for the plasma to refill the chamber. Then there was a loud _bang_, and the torpedo launched into space.

The recoil from the launcher, not usually something that happened when the casing was secure, was almost as dramatic as the launch itself. Unfortunately, Amanda had chosen the wrong direction to flee from the plasma jet; part of the launching mechanism came around and smacked her full in the torso, flinging her against the aft bulkhead.

Step five: not so safe, Amanda thought as she blacked out.

* * *

When Amanda opened her eyes, she had no idea how much time had passed. She was in sickbay, she guessed—bright light shone from the foot of the bed on which she was lying, covered by a standard gray blanket. She could hear a quiet conversation not far away, although she couldn't make out the words. Her head was resting on a small pillow, and there were a few blinking lights just above the head of her bed. It smelled clean, too. Much cleaner than her workstation.

She tried to breathe in deeply to smell that again, but it backfired. Something was wrong with her chest, and she began coughing from the sudden pain. Naturally, the coughing only made it worse.

The face of the EMH appeared above her, tricorder in hand. "Try to breathe normally, Crewman," he advised.

_What does it look like I'm doing? _she thought as she struggled to stop coughing. It took a few moments, but she did it.

"What happened?" she said weakly.

"Why don't you tell us?" the EMH suggested.

Amanda looked around her. Kes was approaching from the other side, a concerned look on her face. She made out two other people in the room, but they were sitting up on biobeds, still in their uniforms. They weren't badly hurt.

She, on the other hand, now knew exactly what it was like to have a torpedo launcher go backwards on her. It didn't feel good. She told the EMH as much.

"I would assume so," he replied blandly.

"You're going to be all right, though," Kes supplied with a reassuring smile. "The impact broke some bones and gave you a few burns here and there, but you'll heal in a day or two."

"Oh," Amanda said. She thought she should seem more relieved, but all she could do was try to figure out what had gone wrong. What had _she_ done wrong?

"Chell said that you took a very big risk," Kes said. "We had to beam you from the weapons chamber."

"Is the ship okay?" Amanda asked.

"The ship will be fine," said the Doctor. "So will you, if you stay in sickbay for another twenty-four hours."

"A whole day?" Amanda said.

He nodded. "Kes, give her 10 ccs of oxylprovoline every four hours. We've completely repaired the bone structure, so aside from some mild discomfort, the patient should recover."

Kes smiled down at Amanda. "He means that you might feel a little uncomfortable for a day or two, but you'll be good as new before long."

Amanda nodded as much as she could. "Do I just lie here?" she asked.

Kes nodded. "I can ask your roommate to bring a few things so you won't be bored. We'd like for you to sleep as much as you can, however."

"Okay," Amanda said. She did feel pretty exhausted.

"I'll contact Crewman Jor," Kes said soothingly. "Why don't you rest now?"

Amanda agreed, and the Doctor nodded once, satisfied, before leaving her field of vision. With one more reassuring pat on the shoulder, Kes also left her side.

Amanda stared up at the dull ceiling. Wow. She'd never been hurt like this before; it felt unreal. She wasn't in very much pain right now—she just didn't quite believe it had happened. The launcher had struck her as soon as it fired, so there had been no time to react. Now here she was with a little vacation and free food for a day.

That didn't quite add up, but Amanda wasn't about to complain. She supposed she had been lucky.

Still, there was a tiny thrill when she remembered what it had been like to jump between the pulses of the plasma leak. Was she supposed to feel like that? She probably shouldn't tell anyone. It's just that it had been, well, almost… fun? The shock of adrenaline had given her the ability to do something she had never imagined she could. In the Maquis, all she had done was try to follow Chakotay's orders, to fire her phaser where he told her and finish the mission in one piece. This little adventure had completely been her idea, and it had worked.

It didn't make sense to Amanda, but she decided she shouldn't worry about it for now and closed her eyes.

The doors to sickbay whooshed apart. Amanda wished that sickbay was a little more private than one big room where anyone could see her lying there if they cared to look around. She opened one eye to see who it was.

She then shut it immediately. Why now? The first time in days that she had been given something more important to think about than Tom Paris, and he had to walk in and see her lying on a biobed, not even able to sit up. Why the hell was he here?

"Harry!" she heard him say. Footsteps that sounded like his walked over to one of the far biobeds. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Captain send you to check up on me?" Ensign Kim groused.

"No, I got off duty and wondered where you were. How's the hand?"

"I told everyone before, it's barely even burned."

"I guess this means that volleyball rematch is off now?"

"I didn't know it was on," Harry retorted. "Look, it's nothing. The Doc's getting the regenerator now. He had to take care of Crewman, um. What's her name, Crewman Jackson."

"Jackson?" Amanda thought Tom sounded concerned as well as surprised. But she must be imagining it. "What happened to her?"

"Kes said that she got the torpedoes back online, but she got knocked out while she was doing it."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's just sleeping. She's right over there."

"Wow. She looks pretty bad." Oh, that was _exactly _what she wanted to hear him say.

"Excuse me, Mr. Paris," the EMH said, breaking into their conversation. "If you're done disturbing my patients, then I'd like to attend to Mr. Kim."

"I'm done here, thanks," Tom said cheerfully. "See you later, Harry."

Amanda waited to hear the sound of doors opening and closing, but it didn't come. Instead, she sensed someone standing near her bed. She didn't move.

"Be more careful next time, Jackson," Tom said quietly. He was standing close to her. "You're too young to get hurt like this, kid."

Then she felt a pair of small, delicate hands adjust her covers. "She'll be all right, Tom," Kes said. "Amanda's sleeping."

"What? Oh, I know. I just felt sorry for her, getting so banged up. Some gig, huh? Only a teenager, and she's stuck out here in the Delta Quadrant. It's a pretty sorry life to look forward to." Sorry life?_ Only a teenager!_

"I didn't know you were friends," Kes said softly.

"Not really," Tom said. "I just try to be nice. She seems pretty lonely, like she hasn't had many friends." Amanda might be keeping perfectly still, but she felt her heart sink even further than it had in the last week.

"What makes you say that?" Kes said curiously. _Oh, shut up, Tom_, Amanda wished silently.

"Well, you know how girls can be with an older guy." Amanda couldn't believe he said that. What did he think she was? She had just saved the fucking ship, and here he was treating her like a lovesick child who ought to be in someone's custody.

"Of course," the youthful Ocampan said wryly to Tom.

"Oh, I didn't mean you, Kes. I just meant that…"

"It's okay, Tom. You don't have to explain." Kes laughed quietly.

"Sure. Well, see you later." And mercifully, he left. Amanda wanted to run after him and strangle him to death, but she didn't have the strength.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Kes told her quietly. Amanda refused to budge, though, and she kept her eyes shut tight until the shadow of the Ocampan moved away.

* * *

More than five years later: Amanda was twenty-four now. She had her duties down to a science, and she knew exactly what to do and when to do it whenever anything in her area went wrong. Torpedoes off-line? Realign the power couplings or check the plasma flow. Targeting sensors malfunctioning? Repair the circuitry or maybe a gel-pack. Just try not to get fried in the process.

At that last task, she was _mostly _successful. She still got hurt sometimes, but she knew that it was because of her that _Voyager_ could fire anything at all. Chell, on the other hand, still did a useless tap dance whenever crisis occurred.

It didn't matter. Amanda counted herself lucky if a month passed when she didn't end up in sickbay. The Doctor made a few remarks about reporting her to Commander Chakotay if she didn't learn to be more careful, but she knew the officers had more to worry about than her welfare. So Amanda barely even blinked when she learned what new injury she had scored as Tom, now the ship's medic, tended to her latest wounds. After this long, she didn't really even notice him there. She just wanted to get back to work.

One day, she was feeling particularly bored at her station. It was Chell's day off, so she didn't even have his chatter to distract her. She was eyeing the torpedo chamber and thinking about the last disaster the ship had faced. That was when they had been stuck in the void for what felt like weeks and they had been fighting off aggressors every chance they got. Something from her department had gone amiss when one of the hostile ships transported goods from Voyager to use for their own survival. The safety valve was so small that it escaped their preliminary review, but that missing link caused a slow reaction in the chamber that caused the firing mechanism to go off without warning, wasting one of _Voyager_'s precious torpedoes.

What a surprise _that _was, Amanda thought with a smile. One minute, everything was calm. The next minute, all hell broke loose in the lower compartment because, of course, the temperature safety valve was not there. Amanda hadn't ever seen the phasers do that _inside _the compartment. At least the aliens hadn't transported away the protective force fields!

As it was, Chell had begun talking about a transfer to airponics, where he could take care of the remaining vegetables. Amanda just replaced the safety valve and double-checked the force fields.

But today, she was alone in the compartment. They had been out of the void for a week, and everything was back to normal. There was, plain and simple, nothing to do.

Typically when her duties hit a slump, she would bring a padd with her and do a little reading. _Voyager _had a few high school-level texts, so she downloaded the teacher's manuals and worked through them herself. The Cardassians had attacked her colony when she was barely sixteen, and among other things, that meant a lot of missed classes. Organic chemistry was completely beyond her, so she'd given that up after a month, but the physics and calculus were fascinating. It took her about two years to get through differential equations on her own, but it felt wonderful when she figured out something new. _What a nerd,_ she sometimes thought. _If I had been like this is school, the other kids would've made so much fun of me!_

Well, no chance of that happening.

But today she'd forgotten the padd, and Chell wasn't there to cover for her. So Amanda sat and fiddled here and there, running a couple unnecessary low-level diagnostics.

Then something occurred to her. What if a safety valve went missing again? Of course it wouldn't, but… what if it did? She should be prepared. That way they could avoid a week of repairs to the phase compartments.

A little simulation wouldn't hurt, Amanda thought with a tiny grin. She knew these systems well enough to duplicate the same sort of incident. It was simply a matter of fooling the computer into ignoring any rise in temperature and then draining just enough coolant to trigger an overload.

That was stupid. Chell hated her "self-motivated diagnostics" even more than he hated real action. Never mind that their department was continually commended for high performance levels during maintenance checks, thanks to her test runs. So far, she hadn't even been seriously hurt when she tried it out.

Partly because Chell always watched her with one hand suspended above his combadge so someone else could save her if necessary. His beady eyes almost gave her stage fright.

Not today! She was tired of sitting around, and this was even better than a workout on the holodeck. Amanda bounced to her feet and moved to the controls with a furtive glace at the doors to make extra sure that no one was around. She keyed in the sequence to deactivate the valve.

The computer buzzed. "That procedure is not allowed."

Amanda frowned. "Since when?"

"Please restate request."

"Never mind." It must have been when the repair crews were in here; just to be safe, someone probably installed an extra lockout to prevent another accident. It was good thinking, Amanda had to admit. But at the moment, it was unnecessary.

If at first you don't succeed… Amanda simply went to the correct bulkhead, unhooked the access panel, and yanked the valve loose herself. Who needed computers, anyway?

She returned to the controls and initiated the coolant leak, just a tiny one. She waited to hear an alarm, but none sounded. Great!

The next step was simple. She moved to the temperature control station to watch the levels rise, her pulse rushing a little with anticipation. They inched up slowly, slowly… This was better than those suspense holovids the crew liked to watch on Saturday nights.

Finally, the levels hit the red line, and Amanda sprinted into action. Easy: bulkhead three, manual override, force field up, drain the heat into the vacuum of space, and restore everything as new. She had fifteen seconds.

Fourteen. At the bulkhead.

Twelve. Manual override. Something blipped at her as she did it, but she ignored it and knocked the lever into place with an extra shove.

Nine seconds to death. _Like hell_. She sprinted back to the ladder and leapt up, the rungs singeing her hands. The extra second at the override had cost her.

Six seconds. Force field up. Perfect. Hurry to the torpedo airlock controls…

Four seconds… Something was going wrong. The control wasn't functioning. Why? She had pressed the wrong sequence. Damn it!

Three seconds. The heat was rising fast. And something had happened to the oxygen levels. No time to think…

Two… What was the sequence? No… No again…

One… She hit her commbadge. "Jackson to sss…."

That was the last thing she knew.

* * *

When Amanda woke up, the scene was familiar enough. Tom was on duty in sickbay, and he was standing near her when she opened her eyes. He came along with his tricorder and checked her out. It was so familiar, it was almost eerie.

Except this time, he didn't have a joke ready. Neither of them said anything at first.

"You almost suffocated," he informed her at last, without really meeting her eyes. "The heat was easy to contain, but you'd shut yourself in with the force fields, along with the monoxide jets. We got you out just in time. The Doctor even had to initiate some low-level neural regeneration. The burns weren't too bad, though. You were only out for a couple hours."

"Will I live?" Amanda asked facetiously. She felt dizzy but not too bad, considering.

He nodded. "This time."

Amanda blinked. He sounded serious. "Hey," she said. "I'm okay, right?"

Tom looked like he was about to answer, then thought better of it. "Wait here," he said, then turned and went into the Doctor's office. B'Elanna was sitting at the Doctor's desk, fidgeting aimlessly with a golf ball. Amanda wondered why B'Elanna was there. Well, she was a few months pregnant. She was probably just there for a checkup or something. But why did they both look so serious? Amanda sat up to watch them.

B'Elanna stood up to talk to Tom. Amanda couldn't hear what they were saying, but B'Elanna didn't look happy. Maybe he'd asked her to leave? No, it looked like something else. B'Elanna nodded firmly.

To Amanda's surprise, Tom put a reassuring hand on his wife's arm and then left sickbay. Amanda watched carefully as B'Elanna approached her. The half-Klingon was staring her down like a cobra about to strike.

"Crewman," B'Elanna started off, her voice flat. "Would you like to explain what happened today?"

Amanda had the feeling she was in trouble for something. "Lieutenant?"

"You heard me," B'Elanna said. "Tell me what happened in the weapons chamber."

Amanda felt B'Elanna's eyes boring into her. "I was running a maintenance diagnostic," she said, trying to keep her voice normal. "I think something went wrong." Yes, it certainly did go wrong—she could remember everything.

"I didn't schedule a diagnostic for today," B'Elanna said. "You know that you never perform more than a level two diagnostic on a weapons system when you're alone."

"I'm sorry," Amanda said. "I guess I forgot about that regulation." Why was B'Elanna being so uptight about this? Hell—this was the first time they'd spoken in months, and this was how she was treating her?

B'Elanna shook her head slowly. "No, you didn't just forget. I sent Nicoletti down there to see what happened. She said that one of the safety valves had been knocked out of place."

"Maybe the repair crews didn't put it back right," Amanda suggested.

"Or maybe someone intentionally moved it."

"What are you saying?" Amanda said. She felt the blood rushing to her face.

"I'm saying you caused the accident down there, Crewman," B'Elanna stated. "I want to know why."

"I'm not trying to harm the ship!"

"I didn't say you were."

"Does it matter?" Amanda said with a nervous laugh. "I'm okay. Lieutenant Paris said I'm just fine."

B'Elanna came closer and leaned against the biobed with one hand. "No, he didn't. He asked me to talk to you because he thinks something is wrong."

Amanda's hands grasped the bed sheet tighter. "What are you talking about?"

"Amanda," B'Elanna said, more gently, "Lieutenant Paris told me what happened today. I just spent the last two hours talking to everyone who works with you. This has to stop."

"What do you mean? Who did you talk to?"

"Chell, for one," B'Elanna answered. "He seems to be the only one who had any idea what was happening. I've already issued him a reprimand for not having come to me with this years ago."

Amanda laughed bitterly. "Chell? That stupid little man doesn't know anything."

"Watch it," B'Elanna warned. "He knows that you have repeatedly placed yourself in unnecessary danger over his protests."

"It _was _necessary. If I hadn't taken those risks, the ship could've been destroyed!"

"That's not true. There's a reason why these computer consoles have as many safety mechanisms as the Starfleet technicians could think up. It's so you don't have to get hurt, or worse, killed."

"The computers don't always work."

"No, you just want to do it yourself," B'Elanna said calmly. "And if you're thinking of scaring me off by raising your voice, it won't work."

"Lieutenant, am I being accused of something?"

B'Elanna backed off just a little. "No. But I am concerned about you."

"I'm fine!" Amanda said forcefully. "There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Then why has your name shown up on more casualty reports than any other member of this crew?" B'Elanna pointed out. "I should have noticed it before now. Your roommate had no idea; you've been making up excuses to hide all the times you were kept in sickbay. Right now, Tom's beating himself up because he thinks he should've known about this, too."

"Known about what?" Amanda demanded.

"That's what I'm trying to find out, Crewman. I want to know why you're trying hurt yourself."

Amanda clenched her jaw shut. "I'm not trying to hurt myself."

Obviously frustrated, B'Elanna stepped away from the bed and took a deep breath. "I can't believe this," she said to herself out loud. "Here I am, about to be a mother in a few months and I can't even take care of the people working under me."

"I don't need to be taken care of!" Amanda shouted. B'Elanna looked at her, surprised. "I'm not the same little teenager the Maquis dragged around the Badlands. I'm not useless, and I don't need people watching out for me like I can't take care of myself!"

It took B'Elanna a few moments to respond. "Amanda," she said, "I don't think of you like that."

"Then why are you interrogating me like this?" she demanded. "So I fucked up today. Who cares? Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does," B'Elanna said. "Listen to me, Crewman. I don't know what it is that's made you do this to yourself. But you can't run away from it and pretend like getting injured is going to take the place of actual feeling."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Amanda said sullenly.

"Maybe not now, but I hope you'll figure it out before you kill yourself. Trust me, it could happen with the risks you're taking."

This was the first time anyone had said that to Amanda. It didn't make sense. Kill herself? That was impossible. She was just a crewman on a lost ship who spent every day in the weapons chamber. It was like that today, and it would be like tomorrow, and it would be like that for the next thirty years. She might feel dead, but that wasn't the same thing as… Her head started to hurt at the temples.

B'Elanna wasn't done yet. "Like it or not, I'm reassigning you to main engineering where I can keep an eye on you myself. I'm also alerting Commander Chakotay to the situation."

Amanda started to protest again, but B'Elanna cut her off. "We don't have a counselor on this ship; Chakotay's the closest thing we've got." She paused. "Crewman, a few years ago, I was caught in a place that's not too different from where you are. He scared me out of it. I know how much you want to be left alone, but I'm sorry. I won't let you do this to yourself."

"Is this about me or you?" Amanda seethed.

B'Elanna didn't answer her. "You're off duty for the next two days. After that, report to engineering for beta shift. I want to see a change in your attitude, Crewman. You can start with showing your officers a little more respect."

Amanda watched B'Elanna turn and leave. She sat alone in sickbay in silence for the rest of the day.

* * *

Nearly a year later, neither the sting of B'Elanna's words nor the humiliation of the subsequent disciplinary action had faded as she walked silently along the piers of San Francisco Bay, next to a stranger who, against all odds, didn't seem to mind.

Finally, Aaron poked her gently in the ribs. "A tuppa for your thoughts," he said.

"A what?" she asked.

"A tuppa. Sort of like a penny," he said. "I mean, what are you thinking about?"

"I'm not sure," Amanda said. "I was thinking of something somebody told me a while ago. Wondering if she was right." Amanda shrugged. "I wasn't very happy on _Voyager_. I probably did some stupid things… I just was wondering about, you know. Everything."

Aaron smiled and nodded. "Gotcha."

Amanda was too shaken to smile back. Aaron was being so nice to her, but he didn't know her. He didn't know what she was like, what it might mean to get close to her. He would only wind up feeling sorry for her.

Amanda felt a shiver from the wind that blew through her coat. She had been badly spoiled by the constantly controlled climate of a working ship.

Aaron noticed. "You're cold," he said. "We should go inside somewhere."

Amanda looked out across the Bay. "It's okay. I'm just not a landlubber yet." She took a deep breath, trying to stifle her fears. "Listen, I'm sorry about tonight. I didn't mean—"

He cut her off. "Stop apologizing. It's not your fault." He cleared his throat. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it? I've never lived by the water before, it's really something."

"Me neither." Amanda looked again at the lapping saltwater, at the reflection of the city lights off the surface of the Bay, and at the wind as it blew Aaron's dark hair back from his face. She wondered for a moment what _his _story was, and what secrets he might be holding onto. Could they match her own? Perhaps it would have been nice to find out. "Thanks for taking me to dinner," she said.

"Would you like to try it again sometime? I'd like to give it another chance."

Amanda was taken aback. She'd thought he was only walking around with her to be nice!

"Yes!" she said quickly. "Of course! I mean, I hate the idea of leaving you with this impression of me."

Aaron smiled at her. "Okay. Great. But… you're not leaving me with a bad impression," he said.

She blushed. Shielded by the dim light of the evening, Amanda took a moment to really observe him. He was only a few centimeters taller than she was, but he stood tall, in the way of someone who had carried a heavy load many times before. When he wasn't watching her, she could see a plain thoughtfulness assume its place as his default mood. His gray eyes looked out over the water again, and she realized, to her surprise, that he saw her only as another person.

How wonderful, and how sad, to be just like everyone else.


	2. Chapter 2

Finite Space

by Liz

chapter 2

_in which our heroine remembers darker times, and tries something else for the first time_

_First of Five, if you're still out there, then this chapter is for you. You once told me to include my bizarre night in a New York City youth hostel in a story sometime... Here it finally is._

**O**

It wasn't long after their accidental collision that Amanda and Aaron became what she supposed was a couple-two people who often spent time together and called each other only to talk. Their mutual enthusiasm for dining out was tempered by their mutual lack of a large income, so they found themselves sneaking into the local baseball stadium after the fifth inning, when the groundlings could enter without paying admission, or borrowing credits to transport to places like Yosemite where they would spend the day hiking. It reminded Amanda a little of the on-foot treks she would take with the Maquis when they would transport outside a shielded zone and walk for two days just to steal supplies, then haul them back out.

She would sometimes catch herself nearly racing down the trail. Aaron could easily keep up, but he kidded her about missing the scenery. "What do humans say? Stop and smell the tulips?"

"Roses," she would admit grudgingly.

"To hell with the roses," he said. "The mountains are nice, though."

Aaron's face became familiar to her, and so did his voice. The sight of her message light blinking when she came home now made her happy-a change for her-because it might possibly be Aaron who called.

Their second date had been a few nights after the affair at Tolla's Bistro. They met in the Mission for some old-fashioned tapas, and at times during the meal Amanda even forgot that she had ever been nervous. Aaron had a relaxed, calm manner, and he seemed to enjoy her bursts of sarcasm. He walked her home from the nearest bus stop, this time offering a peck on the lips as a goodnight gift. It was her first kiss since she was sixteen.

Walking beside him, or waiting for him to show up (usually five minutes late), she felt like she had escaped something undefined. In all those years on _Voyager_, she had been a prisoner to what everyone thought of her-they all were. She'd had no room to grow up or to become something else. Thinking of it set her cheeks burning and her fingers itching.

But then, with Aaron, she was meeting someone new, and he was meeting her. No one else in her former life knew about him-well, save Tom Paris, and Amanda shoved that to the back of her mind whenever it came up. With Aaron, she was free in a way that returning to Earth had never freed her. She was getting to know herself in a new way as she learned more about him.

Aaron was actually a student at the small Bajoran seminary in Berkeley, studying to be a vedik. Amanda was surprised by this. He hadn't even bothered to mention it until their second date when she thought to ask him what he did for a living. It wasn't that his faith wasn't important to him-but it was so well integrated into his life that he felt no need to wear it on his sleeve.

He also took care to assuage her concerns about what he would think of her own nonexistent spiritual life. "We all find our way to the Prophets somehow, if we try," he explained. "The branch of study that I follow says that each individual must find his or her own way. It's the search that matters. More or less."

Gradually, Amanda began telling him more about herself-leaving out some parts more than others. After Voyager had returned, as she recounted to him, she'd been assigned a small apartment at Starfleet Headquarters for the first three months, and she had watched as nearly everyone else on the crew gradually slipped away into the arms of friends and family. Amanda didn't have anyone to give her a place to stay, so after a traumatic three-week search for a place to live (perhaps the most enduring of all San Francisco traditions), she had found her Tender-Nob studio. Fortunately, in the eternal boom-bust cycle of San Francisco, work wasn't very scarce these days, so ends met without too much of a struggle. The rest was history.

She avoided telling Aaron much about the Maquis, or about her life before the Maquis. How many years had Amanda hidden the real stories without touching them? She knew that she would have to tell Aaron eventually. But not just now, not yet. Time with him was like aloe on sun-scalded skin-and dredging up the past would be like taking a bristle to the burn.

**O**

Almost three months to the day that she had met Aaron, she turned in her application to Starfleet Academy. To celebrate, he invited her to his apartment and cooked dinner for them both-a mild Italian concoction requiring no special enzymes to digest.

Amanda had only twice before visited Aaron's flat, tucked away on the side of Potrero Hill. He lived in one of San Francisco's countless Victorian buildings, the kind that had been renovated so many times over the centuries that almost nothing of the original remained except the spirit. He kept it mostly neat, with maybe a handful of Bajoran symbols and artwork set about the place, including a discreet shrine in the back room.

Aaron refused her help in the kitchen. "You were up all night finishing the application," he reminded her. "I don't want you dozing off and losing a finger in the pasta."

Amanda almost protested, but decided that she _did_ feel like sitting down. She went into his sitting room and relaxed, content to watch the view of people strolling past in the late autumn dusk. What a strange year this had become, she reflected. Just when she'd given up all hope of doing anything with her life beyond slaving away as a mere crewman on a lost starship, she found herself dropped unceremoniously into what seemed like a normal life. Ironically, while she was in far less danger here in San Francisco, she found her day-to-day life far more difficult to navigate.

Amanda spied a young couple outside with their daughter as they finished up an evening stroll together, the little girl's blonde pigtails bouncing with each step and a golden retriever trotting behind and around them without a leash. Was it possible for someone to grow up on this planet and live her entire life in peace, with the sunshine and security that a place like San Francisco could offer? Amanda's stomach turned with jealousy. It wasn't fair that fate had placed her in a society like this one at birth, only to demolish all hope of a peaceful life when she was only sixteen. And it caused her to wonder what made this world so secure, and whether the people here ever considered the possibility that they, too, might lose everything in less than a minute.

These were morbid thoughts for a calm evening, but Amanda couldn't help herself. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was turning in her application to the Academy, of making a decision and taking a risk. It made her nervous and reminded her just how unconventional her life had been until now.

She leaned back on Aaron's sofa, studying the ceiling. A few tiny cracks had been caused by last year's 7.9 quake-something that would have wrecked the city had it not been for the massive shock absorbers installed in the last century. Instead, the cracks were simply lines meandering through the blank space, never meeting. It reminded her of her bedroom ceiling when she was a girl.

How funny that she would be able to remember the cracks on her bedroom ceiling and not her mother's face. All of her photographs and family records had been lost with the colony when Amanda was only sixteen.

It happened one summer evening when her brother Nathan was home from university. They had celebrated his birthday only the night before. Amanda was in the middle of bickering with her father, who insisted that she stay in and study that night instead of visiting her friend Angie, who lived across town.

"Dad, I aced math all semester, you know that!" she pointed out to her father. "And it's my last exam of the year. Angie's just got history, day after tomorrow. That's it!"

"Sweetie, all we're saying is, don't take your talent for granted," he told her from the dinner table as she stood up to leave in a huff. She could never sit still for long, especially not when perturbed.

"Dad, I can take care of myself, okay? You're acting like some kind of drill sergeant."

She didn't hear his response because she'd already gone into the kitchen to retrieve a piece of leftover birthday cake. She was about to ask him to repeat himself when there was a loud banging on the front door.

Amanda paused to listen with the cake knife in her hand. They weren't expecting anyone. Oh, hell, it wouldn't be any of her school friends, would it-showing up without calling first? Her parents wouldn't let her out of the house for the next _year_. Through the door she saw her father exchange a glance with her mother, then go to the front door and open it.

She didn't understand what was being said, but there were several voices. It wasn't her friends; these were adult voices, angry ones. They were angry, and getting louder. This wasn't something about the recent city council meeting, was it? She hadn't been there, but Nathan had told her that there had been shouting.

"Come outside now," ordered one of the strangers.

Amanda stood, frozen in place. _Just go away_, she thought fervently. _Just go away._

Her father's voice echoed through the house. "Get the hell off my property!" she heard him shout.

Then came the blast, louder than anything she was expecting. It sounded like a phaser, but it couldn't be. Not here.

Time stretched out into impossible lengths. Dishes clattered to the floor and shattered. Footsteps rushed to the front of the house. Her mother screamed, crying her father's name.

Another blast.

The screams were cut off.

Amanda just stood there, her hand holding the knife's wooden handle. Her brother dashed into the kitchen, his brown eyes wide with terror. "Get out!" he shouted at her. "Go, the window! Now!" Heavy footsteps were following him.

Something instinctive inside Amanda followed his command as the rest of her shut off. She jumped onto the counter and pushed open the window above the sink. It was winter on their colony, and the cold, wicked air entered and stung her face. There was a two meter drop to the ground below.

She looked over her shoulder. "Get out," Nathan told her, pushing her forward with his hands. He swung his long, lanky legs onto the counter behind her and made as if to shield her with his body.

Amanda jumped, still holding the kitchen knife. She landed on the cold, hard ground with a thud and rolled to the side. Her knees and ankles buzzed from the impact. Voices rose from the alleys and paths between the houses.

"What was that?" called someone across the alley, in the darkness. A male voice, not one she recognized. A young man, who was as scared of the dark as she was.

"Shine the light on the blue house," ordered a second voice. Amanda began to hear phaser shots echoing against the walls of the other houses, and other screams of other families inside as a searchlight slowly honed in on the window from which she had jumped.

It alighted on the window just as Nathan's form appeared, ready to jump, too. He looked down at her desperately. "Run," he said; she could barely hear him. His nose had begun to bleed, but that didn't mean anything. Nathan had always gotten nosebleeds as a boy.

He jumped to the ground as she climbed to her feet and began running. "Stop right there!" a voice shouted behind her, but she ignored it. She just ran. The last sound she heard was a phaser shot and Nathan's painful grunt as his body was dashed against the wall of their house. She never looked back.

Amanda ran, dodging through narrow alleyways and dark side streets that only a native to the town would know about. It was only a few hundred meters to the edge of town. Her cross-country workouts with the other girls on her team had taken her along through the streets countless times before, heading into the countryside. There she could escape into the forest at the edge of town and wait until help would come. She knew the forest well; settlers went there all time. Amanda's classmates would meet there at night to make out under the trees... She'd only been once.

She knew the paths and she knew the hiding places. _The trees_, she thought. _Just get to the forest. Nathan will come later. He'll come._

She was almost there-less than fifty meters from the edge of town-when a searchlight scoured the ground immediately before her. Without time to stop or change direction, she ran right into the light. The searchlight followed her. Tall, dark shapes ran to block her path across the street from her. Amanda skidded to a halt and turned at the last moment and dodged into another alley, but the two soldiers saw her and followed. She didn't know where she was now, and in the darkness she couldn't see the ground. Amanda stumbled over her own feet and crashed onto the pavement.

She stood up just as the first soldier reached her. He seized her by the shoulder to inspect her face. His face was pale, bony, white. Skeletal ridges surrounded his eyes and made a curious teardrop shape in his forehead. He wasn't sneering or angry as he beheld her; he was simply curious.

Amanda's right hand still held the kitchen knife. She jammed it as far as it would go into the Cardassian's exposed underarm. His eyes registered pain and surprise, and the impact rattled Amanda's arm painfully. The soldier let go and collapsed to the ground with only a loud exhalation of hot air and blood.

His companion was directly behind him, though. The only thought that crossed her mind when the Cardassian raised his phaser to shoot her was, _Why haven't I screamed yet?_

Out of nowhere, another body crashed into the Cardassian from behind, sending the phaser blast into the wall. Amanda stood trembling as her rescuer dispatched the soldier efficiently. He rose to his feet and looked at her. She couldn't make out his face, but he was tall and broad-shouldered.

"Nathan?" she said, terrified. Her arms were shaking from the cold.

"No," said the voice. He approached her carefully. In the dim light, she could make out bronze skin, a square jaw, and a tattoo over one eye. "My name is Chakotay," he said. "Come with me. I promise, you'll be safe." He reached out his hand to her.

**O**

Amanda woke up gasping. She didn't know where she was. Shadows had shrouded the room and stolen its familiarity. She looked around desperately, but in the darkness, all she saw were ghostly images of violent deaths and the faceless memories of her family. Amanda cried out in frustration. The nightmares would never disappear, would they?

Aaron appeared in the room and triggered the lights. She squinted in the sudden brightness as he sat down by her side. "You okay?" he said.

Amanda couldn't speak. She was shaking like a baby.

"It was a nightmare, okay?" he said, resting a soothing hand on her back. "You're fine. Come back to the real world." Amanda didn't say anything yet; she just tried to breathe and to get the nightmare out of her head as quickly as she could.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Aaron offered. "Might help."

"No," she said, more strongly than she meant to.

He took his hands off her. "Okay, you don't have to."

Amanda looked at Aaron. In this light, it was all too easy to imagine blood running from his face, too. She felt herself begin to cry. "I'm so sorry," she said, then said it again. She was a wreck, an unstable, pitiful wreck of a human being with no chance of ever achieving a normal, stable life.

"Don't apologize," Aaron said. He frowned. "I just want to make sure you're okay. I thought we were celebrating."

"We are," she said. She drew a deep breath; talking was at least helping the images of the nightmare to fade. Maybe she should just tell him.

"Look, I was watching your neighbors walk by together, outside, and then I started thinking about my own family... And I guess I dozed off..."

Slowly, haltingly, she told him what happened to her colony. It was difficult, and she included just the basic story-none of the gore she had just relived.

Amanda also told him what happened after. There were only a few survivors from thousands of first and second generation colonists on her world, people who had forged a society from a planet devoid of sentient life. Such was the efficiency of the Cardassian military. The ones who lived found themselves split up and swept away by the Maquis. Some of them, like Amanda, ended up fighting with the Maquis, as she had learned years later. Others were set adrift to rebuild their lives elsewhere. All in all, there were only twenty or thirty people; no one kept track of the exact numbers.

Chakotay more or less kept his promise of safety to her. His cell adopted her. In retrospect, if he'd wanted to make sure of her safety, he would have abandoned her at the first Federation outpost they found. That is, if the cell hadn't been so busy sabotaging them. Instead, Amanda had learned how to aim and fire several kinds of phasers. She learned how to throw sonic grenades that, if positioned correctly, would destroy her enemies' internal organs and leave her unscathed. She could cook a meal over a fire from the most meager of rations.

Most importantly, she learned not to cry or to speak about her past. That lesson came very soon. The second night she was with the Maquis, Chakotay came to check on her in the corner of the ship's mess hall, where she had curled herself into a ball, unable to eat. He pushed a bowl of slop in her face.

"You have to eat," he said, not unkindly. She didn't say anything, didn't move.

He sat down. "Listen, everyone here knows what you're going through. We've all suffered some kind of loss."

She looked at him, still unsure whether or not to trust him.

He seemed to recognize her fear. "It's Andrea, isn't it?" he asked.

"Amanda. Amanda Jackson." She'd already memorized the names of everyone on the ship.

"Amanda, if anyone--and I mean _anyone_--gives you any trouble, come and talk to me about it. If I'm not around, talk to B'Elanna Torres or Mike Ayala. I'll tell them to watch out for you."

"You don't have to do that."

Chakotay smiled at her gently. "I had a feeling you were a tough kid when I saw you with that Cardassian hanging from your kitchen knife. Did you know you punctured his dorsal respiratory sac?" She didn't say anything. He nodded. "Well, Miss Jackson, I'll be watching out for you all the same. Just be careful you don't turn down too many offers for help, okay? They're not as plentiful as they should be out here."

He reached across the table and gently squeezed her upper arm before leaving the table. On his way out, he stopped at another table near the door, where a few of the higher-ranking Maquis were sitting together. Chakotay leaned over the shoulder of B'Elanna Torres, the half-Klingon woman, and said something quietly. Amanda watched, humiliated, as B'Elanna nodded and glanced in her direction.

It was the first time they had made eye contact. Torres seemed like one of those sonic grenades; she had as much power packed into as small a package as possible. Amanda could tell that from the way she moved. Right now, Torres was looking at her, evaluating her.

Pitying her.

B'Elanna Torres didn't smile, but she didn't frown, either. She said something quietly to Chakotay. The exchange seemed to alter the tone of the entire room, and Amanda became conscious of more eyes being turned on her. There was Seska, the disguised Cardassian, sitting by B'Elanna. At the next table, Chell peered curiously through the shadows.

Amanda didn't wait to see what would happen next; she just grabbed her food and hurried out of the mess hall, to the tiny bunk that was now her entire home.

Several months passed. Amanda threw away the clothes she was wearing the night of the attack after they were ruined in a narrow scrape on Gelvis Prime. Most days, she wore the same shirt, vest, and pair of men's pants, the ones with the leather around the knees--better for living rough. Her belongings consisted of one spare outfit, a phase rifle, a pistol, and the kitchen knife with which she'd arrived--the one souvenir from her childhood. Amanda grew used to the crowded accommodations, numbed by the lack of sleep and continual food rationing. Now it was nothing to her when Lon Suder woke up the whole cabin with another of his night terrors, spewing nonsense at top volume until someone hit him hard enough that he shut up and went back to sleep.

Jor, one of the Bajoran women, helped her figure out the basics of the weapons systems so she'd have a job to do, and a reason to stay with the Maquis. Jor was a dark-haired, slender Bajoran woman whose honest face and friendly tone belied her violent past: a two-year veteran Maquis, she'd seen nearly as much action as Chakotay. Amanda didn't know the particulars of her background, but she'd overheard rumors of a young husband killed during an illicit Cardassian operation. Jor said nothing about that--none of the Maquis did--but Amanda once caught her crying desperately by herself when Tabor, her lover, was late for a rendezvous. Amanda tried to see if Jor was all right, but Jor seemed paralyzed with fear. Not knowing what else to do, Amanda left her alone.

These were the Maquis: the damaged people who would carry Amanda through the years when other girls had first kisses and learned to fly a shuttlepod. They were her family now.

And then the world changed again. Their encounter with the Caretaker was like a razor blade that sliced all of their lives into yet another shard. Amanda felt she could remember each moment of that adventure--the damage to the ship, the casualties, their sudden transport to what they later learned was the Array... Within the holographic simulation, the Maquis wasted almost no time before rising up, holding the citizens of that cheerful world hostage until answers came in the form of sedatives. Amanda had protested, wanting to talk first, but no one listened to her.

But what the Maquis remembered most was Chakotay's snap decision to scuttle the _Liberty_. The first few weeks on _Voyager_ were a time when not only Janeway's but Chakotay's authority also hung in the balance, when a group of lost, angry, and wounded people found themselves trapped, forced to face their demons or find another way to avoid them.

Amanda chose to hide.

**O**

Aaron stayed sitting by her quietly as she told him the story. He waited a while to respond. At last, he spoke.

"You've survived a lot in your life. It must be very hard for you."

She nodded, wiping away the last of the tears.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I got beat up by six kids in the refugee camp so they could steal my dinner rations?"

"No."

"That's good, because it pales in comparison."

Amanda tried to go along with his attempts to lighten things up, but a weight was still hanging from her heart. "Oh, hell, Aaron. I'm nothing but damaged goods."

"Welcome to the party. You think I'd want to be with a woman who'd never faced anything worse than a hangnail the first twenty years of her life? Okay, unbeknownst to me, you've had some rather epic hangnails, but guess what."

"Aaron..."

"No, really. I've watched you, and I've seen the corner of your closet where you've stashed things you're planning to give away to charity. I know how many hours a week you've been devoting to the immigrant resource center, helping people out for free. Like you say, shit happens. And to quote the Prophets, what you do with the shit is what changes your life."

"Huh?" Amanda said.

"I'm a little loose with the translation."

"I don't get it."

"Exactly." Aaron leaned over and kissed her. "Wow. I know this will sound like a big lie, but in a way I'm glad you told me all this tonight. I was planning to seduce you to the point of consummation, but this was much more important."

Amanda froze.

Aaron looked over at the wall clock. "I don't mean to be rude," he said, carefully extracting his hand from hers, "but I think the pasta's getting cold."

"Can I help?" she said, drying her tears and trying to avoid his eyes.

"Hell, no," he told her. "How can I be sure you won't drown yourself in marinara while I'm not looking? You're not a picture of stability."

"Oh, come on. I'm not crazy."

"Yes, you are." He kissed her on the lips. "Now get into the dining room before I do something drastic."

"Like what?"

"Serve you dessert before the meal," he said, wiggling an eyebrow.

He left the room. Oh, shit. Amanda had been utterly, irrationally avoiding the very thought of this moment until now out of sheer ignorance. Sure, she'd thought he'd want sex sooner or later, and she'd already had dreams with Aaron in a starring role, but... here it was. Unless she misread his insinuation...

But he didn't sound like he was talking about any old chocolate soufflé.

Maybe he already knew! After all, she'd told him about Voyager. She didn't have the best social life then, and she'd never had a boyfriend. So how could she be anything other than a virgin?

Okay, easy answer. But she was in fact terrified. Never mind she'd not said anything about it. Didn't Aaron _realize_ this!

He served the pasta--a glorious concoction of garlic, rosemary, marinara, and a few non-Terran items, too. The meal was grand and the wine was excellent. He held her hand as he walked her to the table, and he talked about his day, asked her about hers. He'd set some quiet music in the background-something Betazoid? Amanda was too twitchy to hear it.

Halfway through the meal, Aaron sighed. "Are you okay?" he asked kindly.

"Yes! Why?"

"You seem a little... high-strung at the moment."

"I'm not high-strung!"

"Okay, you're not high-strung," he allowed. "You've already snapped. Look, I'm really sorry about what I said right before dinner, Amanda. I didn't mean to rush you."

"What?"

"That's what this is about, isn't it?" he said. "I promise, I didn't say I wanted to have sex because you told me that whole horrible story about the Maquis. No disaster fetish or anything. I've been thinking about it for weeks, and I hoped we could maybe give it a shot tonight, to celebrate, you know? But if you're not ready to make love yet, then by the Prophets, we don't have to."

"Ummm."

"Amanda."

"Yes?"

Aaron had set his fork down. "Please talk to me. I don't read minds."

She looked, her face red as could be. "Aaron," she said haltingly, "I have a confession."

His eyes narrowed. "Another one?" he said. "If this goes on, you'll have to write a novel."

"You're the one who's talking non-stop!"

"Okay!" He sat back in his chair. "Your turn."

My turn, she thought. God, she had to be the one and only twenty-five-year-old virgin in the entire history of San Francisco. How humiliating.

"You're going to think I'm really stupid," she said, "but I've never, um." She lost her nerve and stared down at her pasta again.

"You mean you're a virgin?" he said. The surprise was crammed into his voice.

Amanda folded her hands in her lap, like a little child who'd forgotten to clean up her room.

"Hey, that's okay!" he exclaimed.

It was? Amanda looked up. Aaron was smiling. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise," he said. "It's just that I thought you were going to tell me you'd mated a Klingon last week and forgot to tell me. In which case I'd rather you tell me so I don't get the business end of a bat'leth. But Prophets, Amanda! It's okay, really it is."

"You're sure?" she eked out.

He rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. I mean, I guess it makes sense, seeing where you've been the last ten years, right?"

"Seven."

"Whatever."

"You're sure it's okay?"

"Amanda. What am I going to say? 'I wish you'd banged two dozen men so I could benefit from the experience.' No way! Anyway, it's not like you've missed the train. It tends to leave only when you're ready."

Amanda giggled, although she was still really embarrassed. "It's just that I'm so _old_ for this."

"No time like the present," Aaron pronounced. "Of course, we don't have to if you're not ready, but I'm interested."

"I've kind of heard that sex with virgins isn't, you know. Good."

"Never tried it. Maybe it isn't. I haven't had sex with a human before, either, if that matters. But... wow, Amanda. If you want to give yourself--I mean, if you really want to share yourself with me, then I don't care. It's you I want to be with. We'll make it work."

"Oh," she said.

"Yeah. Oh." He smiled and reached across the table to push a lock of hair out of her face. "What do you want to do?"

Bang, back to decision time.

Aaron sat back and twirled some fettuccini around his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. "Look, you want to hear something really embarrassing?" he said. "You know how old I was when I got laid for the first time?"

"How old?"

"Guess."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Sixteen."

"Close. Seventeen. That's if you think it counts."

"If what counts?"

Aaron winced. "Does losing your virginity to a hologram count as legitimate?"

"You did what?" she said.

"Oh, yeah. One of my friends gave me the program. You know how teenage boys are. What losers."

"Oh my goodness."

"You don't have to look quite that shocked." He laughed. "The really awful part is that I kind of got into the program in a big way. I would visit as often as I could, you know? My self-esteem tripled, all because I was boning a matrix. But after a couple months, my sister came after me, because she was curious, right?"

"Oh, no!" Amanda covered her mouth.

"That's right. Only thing worse than your big sister finding out that you've got yourself a holographic lover is having her discover you with a holographic lover."

Amanda could only imagine how mortified he must have felt. "Do you still...?"

"What, visit the hologram?" he said. "No. Bajoran vediks can be pretty liberal, but we have our limits. The official line is that you should do that 'only under extreme duress.'"

"Wow," Amanda said.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked. "Or do I have to tell you about the time I was with this crazy redhead from--"

"Aaron," she started, the hesitated.

"Yes?"

"I just... well..."

"Look, I said we don't have to, all right?" He began eating again. She could tell he was a little embarrassed now from the way he began shoveling the food into his mouth. "I mean," he said, talking while chewing, "I really like you, and I want to do what's best for us. It wouldn't help either one of us if we rushed it and you hated me for coercing you. Prophets, I couldn't live with myself if I ever made you feel like that. And if you want, I mean, we can-"

"Aaron!" she said. She'd gotten used to him talking a lot, but every so often, she had to shut him up.

"Yes?"

"Look, I... Yes. I want to."

He was definitely taken by surprise. "You do? Are you sure? I don't want to if you're not totally sure that you want to. Because otherwise--"

"Aaron, shut up!" she said. "I know what I want, damn it."

Aaron grinned a little, with just one corner of his mouth. He looked at his plate. "You know, the pasta's not so good after all."

She almost disagreed, but then caught his drift. "You're right," she said. "Terrible."

He stood up and came to her side. Offering her a chivalrous hand, he brought her to her feet and kissed her.

"You taste like garlic," she said with a nervous giggle.

"So do you," he said, and led her to his bedroom--a place she'd only seen from the doorway.

"You're sure?" he said one last time.

"Stop asking me that," Amanda told him, and kissed him.

She closed her eyes as Aaron caressed her face. The anticipation shot up and down her spine; she could feel herself getting warm inside--like there was a secret, dormant spring that suddenly began coming to life. Her heart pounded, from nerves and from anticipation.

Aaron pulled away from her and went to light a couple candles from his drawers. He set the candles on either side of a smallish tapestry that hung on the wall opposite from his bed--his very, very big bed. Then he turned out the lights.

Aaron took her hand again. "Bajorans who are religious sometimes say a prayer before they make love," he whispered.

"What, for luck?"

He laughed. "Maybe. But for me, it's to invite the Prophets into our--well, our union."

"You want the Prophets here!"

"Anywhere there is love, so should be grace." It sounded like a quote...

"Love?" she asked.

"I didn't bring you in here just for sex," he said.

"Wow," she said. "What's the prayer?"

He smiled, eager as a little boy. "Come stand with me by the candles." She did, her hands shaking from nerves--and from eagerness. "Now hold my hands." She did.

He closed his eyes and raised his face to the ceiling; he smiled. "Heavenly Prophets, show me the way to love this woman well. Through her joy I give you honor."

A chill ran down her spine.

Aaron opened his eyes. "Now you say the same thing for me."

"Heavenly Prophets," she said awkwardly. "Show me the way to love... this man well. Through his joy I give you honor."

He leaned forward and kissed her. "And you've already honored them a hundred times over." Aaron backed toward the bed and pulled her with him.

"That's it?" she said. "Is there more?"

He laughed. "If the prayer was any longer, nobody would ever say it!"

She giggled. "And this from the religion that brought you thirty-hour vigils."

"The prayer might be short," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "But there are other things that take up a lot more time."

Aaron reached around her waist and unfastened the ties that held her shirt. She shivered as the cool, evening air touched her collarbone, sternum, ribs, stomach, waist...

A smile spread slowly across his face, as he regarded her, moving his warm hands gently across her back. No one had ever looked upon her like this. She laid her hands on his shoulders, not sure what to do.

He moved her hands behind his neck and eased himself back, further onto the bed--and her forward, onto him. "Kiss me," he told her. She did, tasting garlic, tasting wine--tasting him. It was beautiful.

She felt his hands slipping into her waistband, then nudging her pants lower. She gasped, frightened despite herself. But she moved her hands so she could help him.

"No, stop," he said. "I'll do it. I'll be gentle. Just trust me."

She did, and he was. He removed her clothing, piece by piece, then let her remove his--and she loved it. A student, but not one who stayed seated in a library all day long, Aaron had broad shoulders and narrow hips. Lean, but with enough muscle to feel very much like... a _man_. A very real, very present, and absolute male. The simple differences between their bodies warmed her up, from the inside out.

Even in the candlelight, she could tell he had goosebumps all over his torso. She felt for his heart with her palm.

He moved her hand a bit lower. "The Bajoran heart is here," he said. "Feel it?"

She nodded. He patiently waited as she grew comfortable with her nakedness, and his bare chest. Amanda kissed him again, and she thought she'd try kissing his chest, too.

It seemed to be the right thing to do. He gasped and gently held her head in his hands as she ran her tongue over his muscles, his heart, and a little lower. She took his fly and opened it: it was now or never.

"Whoa," she said, temporarily stunned.

Aaron shook with laughter. "Tell me that's a good sign."

She looked up at him, a little worried. "Is that..."

He laughed again. "It's basically the same as a human penis. Don't worry, it's not about to go off on you, not yet."

Amanda was simply not a judge of male proportion, but what she saw before her seemed kind of long. And it was definitely curved in an upward direction. "Can I, um..."

"Yes, touch it. I'll tell you what feels good." He seemed to be enjoying himself!

Well... So was she. With the lights off, her embarrassment was fading, and as he showed her how to handle him, she began to feel bolder. Seven years of voyaging through a foreign quandrant, but this another kind of exploration altogether.

After a minute of what Amanda thought were remarkable vocalizations from the man she held before her, Aaron interrupted her adventures. "My turn," he insisted, and rolled her slowly onto her back, and pulled down the bedsheets underneath them both, an awkward exercise that left her giggling again, and him, too.

He pulled the sheets over them so that they were cocooned in even more privacy, and he could wrap his arms around her in warmth. She felt his hand graze her breasts, her stomach, her buttocks, and then around front, and below, to the place she really knew nothing about. She gasped as he gently began to explore her.

Aaron kissed her on the neck. "It's okay," he whispered. "You're safe with me."

She didn't have to force herself to relax--his handiwork was doing the job all of its own accord. Amanda grabbed his shoulders, arching her either to get away or to come even closer. She wasn't sure which.

"Come to me," she said.

Aaron nodded, breathless, and he shifted his weight so his face was above hers, his weight resting on his elbows on either side of her. He nudged her legs farther apart with his knees.

"Open up to me," he told her. "I'll come in now."

Amanda did not look back.

**O**

They lay awake together for a long time, her curled into him, him wrapping himself around her. They talked quietly about this and that; Amanda felt like she suddenly had the freedom to ask things she'd never dared to speak out loud to anyone. What was good? What wasn't? What kinds of things turned him on? What didn't?

"Not real crazy," he told her, as if he were apologizing. "I like the basics pretty well."

She giggled. "That's fine. We can start there and work up if we want, right?"

"Good plan."

A thought struck her--very belatedly, she realized. "Aaron?"

"Hmm?"

"Should we worry about, you know. Contraceptives?"

"Mmm. Nope, checked." His post-coital speech was reduced to monosyllables which she found hilarious, not least because he tended to talk so much at other times.

"Huh?"

"I checked," he elaborated. "Humans and Bajorans can reproduce, but you need some medical help to make the DNA play nice. Can't happen by accident. Love it. No need for anything."

"No diseases?"

"Told you. Checked. I'm clean--went to the doc few weeks back. Was gonna ask you, but."

She giggled. "When?"

"At dinner."

"No, I mean, when did you check? About humans and Bajorans."

He ran a hand up and down her arm. "You got me. After our first date. I wanted a game plan."

"After our first date? But that was a disaster!"

"Remember how I told you I'd had worse?" He patted her naked bottom. "I really liked you. Crying and all."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"I liked you, too."

"Good."

Silence. Then, "Aaron?"

"Hmm?"

"Was it good?"

Now he stirred, turning her over so he could see her face. "Amanda," he said seriously. "If that was only the first time, then I am crazy with the thought of how good it can be."

She smiled. "Okay."

"Yeah, you'll learn some stuff, but I'm telling you, it's always better when you're with someone you love."

"How often have you... been with someone you love?"

He laid back on the pillow. "Before tonight, I would have said... Well, it doesn't matter. Because, as of tonight? Just once. Only once."

After an hour or so of dozing and light chatter, Aaron suddenly seemed to spring to life again. Amanda could practically feel the change in herself, too. He stretched, took a deep breath, and got up, walking to the bathroom with a spring in his step. The toilet flushed, and when he came back after a minute, Amanda was looking at him with frank surprise.

"What happened to you?" she said.

He grinned. "Bajoran men take about an hour, some a little longer, to come back to life after orgasm," he told her, curling up beside her and wrapping her in his arms. "I've heard it's maybe a little more pronounced than your basic humanoid."

"I'll say."

"My sister's a biologist; she says Bajoran primates are the same way. Evolutionary advantages."

"Like what?"

"For one thing, sex is that much more fun, because it's a _great_ feeling to lie there in your lover's arms," he said. "For another... well, it means you have to be nice to the ladies, because we're pretty vulnerable immediately after."

"But some rival could come and do you in."

"Possibly. Do I have any rivals here?" He craned his neck to look around the bedroom. "It's not total paralysis. More like... bliss."

"Wow." She thought. "Must frustrate the women, though--'All he ever does is turn over and go to sleep.'" They laughed.

Another question occurred to her. "How do human females compare to Bajoran females?"

Aaron grinned. "You're the only human female I've ever seen up close."

"Still!"

"Okay. Just like with men, it's pretty close. But there are some differences in, ah, placement. You're a little harder to find."

Amanda blushed. "You did okay."

"Thanks. I researched."

"You did _what_?"

"Oop," Aaron said. That was the noise he made when he regretted saying something. "Okay. Yes, I researched."

"How?" She wasn't upset, but she was incredibly curious.

"It's great what you can find at libraries these days."

"You didn't."

"It wasn't porn! They were for reference, promise." He shrugged, bouncing her head gently on his shoulder. "There were pictures. It helped."

Amanda thought about that. What would have seemed awkward and embarrassing to her before tonight now felt rather natural to discuss--maybe because they were naked together, and maybe because it was dark with only the low candles. Then again, she knew already that she trusted this man so completely.

Her mind reeled just a bit. Despite her incredibly long-lasting virginity, she'd never been one to subscribe to the notion that you needed to wait until marriage to be with a man. In her life, she'd lost so much that was so very much more important to her--her family, for starters--that a little ceremonial technicality paled in importance. And yet, for all that, she felt like she'd suddenly begun to fly with no net beneath her.

And, oddly... she decided that she liked that feeling, for once in her life. Very much.

**O**

In the morning, the sun was shining. The weather was beautiful in a different way than it usually was in San Francisco--there were no clouds, and everything seemed brighter and more vivid in the slowness of a Saturday morning.

Amanda moved gingerly, expecting to be sore from the night's triple adventure into the joys of flesh--but was pleasantly surprised to find herself only a little stiff. There was tenderness between her legs, but it didn't hurt. It just... called attention to itself. And the memory wasn't bad at all.

"How are you?" Aaron was awake and watching her.

"Did I wake you?"

"No. I was watching you sleep."

"I didn't snore, did I?"

"Little bit."

She gasped, appalled. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because you sounded so sweet. What were you dreaming about?"

"You." She smiled. "Aaron?"

"Yes?" he said patiently.

"I love you, too."


	3. Chapter 3

Finite Space

By Liz

chapter 3

_in which our heroine hits a snag and our hero hits the skids, __and Chakotay saves the day again_

**O**

When Aaron was a small child, something happened that Amanda wouldn't hear about until months after their first night of sex. If she had, events might have been different, but Aaron rarely spoke about his childhood.

For the first few years of his life, his family was well-off, at least by occupation standards. They owned a small house on Kirandi, the southernmost continent of Bajor, in a town that was mostly out of the way of the Cardassian administration. They had managed to eke out an existence that on the surface avoided all politics. His father was the principal of a school; his mother owned and ran a small clothing shop. He had an older sister, Mari, and a pet of the sort that humans called cats and were close enough.

Under the surface, however, his father was an immensely powerful figure. He and Aaron's mother had spent time on Earth and then managed to have it wiped from their official records (otherwise, the Cardassians would never have allowed them to work on Bajor again). They'd gone as a young couple and made connections—connections that included one of the most crucial black market supply runs on the whole planet, one that had heretofore escaped Cardassian attention. Food and reactor components came through, and medicines were especially crucial, as many vaccinations could not be replicated. Aaron wouldn't learn for years to come about the stash of illicit medicines in the mysterious spare classroom at the school in which classes were never held.

Because it was during the years of occupation, the Jarro family had a plan, like any other family. A chain of people led to the source of the shipments, but a regular check-in schedule would send them into hiding if any link on the chain didn't respond. It was a flawed and amateurish safeguard, but their family had no training in espionage, and they did what they thought was enough.

When Aaron was very young, the human Aaron Mitchkoff came to visit the Jarro family. Mitchkoff was a close friend of his father's, and at the time, young Aaron didn't know any more, but Mitchkoff was in fact breaking international treaty laws by coming to Bajor—and bringing with him many of the vital supplies that Aaron's father distributed at-cost. Aaron knew the older man was human, but he had a false set of ridges on the bridge of his nose and an earring so he could pass. During this trip, Mitchkoff brought his namesake a toy horse from Earth as a gift.

Aaron was out in the small front yard one day with a neighbor's son, playing with his new toy, when two Cardassian soldiers walked by with their phaser rifles and dark eyes. All Bajoran children were taught to be quiet when Cardassians were around, and never to make eye contact. Aaron and his playmate pretended to keep playing, in hushed tones. His friend was holding the horse; he'd been preparing to send it flying (they didn't know horses couldn't fly) over a building they'd made of spare kitchen utensils. Inside the building were Cardassian soldiers, and the horse was going to the Prophets to make them rain down terror on the soldiers.

"You, boy," barked one of the soldiers. It was the first time Aaron had ever been addressed by a soldier. He and his friend stood up, frightened. "Where did you get that toy?"

His friend stuttered an answer, trying to say that he found it just lying around. They were only four or five years old. Aaron thought he would wet his pants, but he stood forward.

"Sir," he said, "it's my horse."

"Where did you get it?" The soldier wasn't shouting; he seemed calm. "Who gave it to you?"

"My father's friend, sir."

"Where is your father's friend from?"

"I don't know, sir," Aaron said, looking down at his feet.

"You're lying." The Cardassian squatted down in front of him, and took him by the shoulder. "I want you to tell me the truth, little boy. Who gave it to you?"

"Aaron!" shrieked a girl's voice. It was his sister, Mari. She was two years older. "Aaron!" she screamed, running out of the house. She came and wrapped her arms around her brother protectively. "Don't be bad, don't be bad," she whispered angrily in his ear.

The two soldiers stepped back. They exchanged confused looks. The one who had spoken to Aaron swore quietly under his breath, and the children flinched. He reached down and took the horse effortlessly from the little boy's hands.

"My horse!" Aaron cried.

"Aaron, shhh!" Mari hissed, grabbing him even tighter, and pulling him away.

"I won't hurt you," the Cardassian said frankly. He exchanged another look with his partner, then kneeled down in front of them. "I want you to do me a favor, children," he said to Mari and Aaron. "Tonight, play a game with me. It will be our secret. Take some of your favorite food and your best toy, and put it in a small bag. Tonight, my friends and I will have a race with you. When you hear a loud sound, I want you to take your bag and run very fast out the back of your house and hide. If you win, then you won't see me. Don't tell your parents, or I'll find you and you'll lose."

They stared at him, terrified.

He looked at his partner, who shrugged. "Suits me," the other man grunted. "Long as the parents don't know and the CO's happy."

"Be good," the Cardassian ordered, and with the horse in his hand, he stood up and walked away. Aaron's playmate had actually wet himself, so they ran inside to change before his mother found out.

Mari grabbed two of her mother's old shopping bags and crammed them full of cookies and juice and the stuffed animal Aaron had slept with since he was a baby because it looked like their pet, who preferred Mari's bed to his.

Aaron and Mari were sharing a room because Mitchkoff was staying in Aaron's bedroom at the front of the house. They went to bed but didn't sleep, both of them pretending to but instead spending each frightened minute hoping they wouldn't have to play the game with the Cardassian soldier.

Not long after midnight, however, lights suddenly flooded the front room, and an enormous rattling burst into the night air. Aaron screamed, but Mari grabbed the two bags at once and then took his hand and they ran through the hall to the back as their parents and Mitchkoff woke up and were just emerging from their rooms. Mari pulled him faster than he could run through the back door and the small yard into a place where the bushes would hide them. Once there, she hugged her younger brother so tight that he could hardly breathe. They were scared.

Three adult figures came bursting out of the back door as a huge machine seemed to start attacking the front of their house. Aaron saw posts and beams fly into the night sky like matchsticks. The big machinery backed up and did it again. In spite of the tremendous noise, they heard their mother scream their names.

The adults conferred in the span of a second. Mitchkoff grabbed their mother and dragged her back into the shadows of the yard; Aaron's father dashed back into the house, calling his children's names. As soon as Mitchkoff reached the bushes, they tripped over Mari and Aaron. Their mother let out a sob of relief and took them both in her arms.

Mitchkoff shielded all three of them from the loudest sound and the worst sight of the entire night: the house collapsing completely. Their father was trapped inside.

Mitchkoff didn't waste any time. He left his best friend for dead and took the family away, holding Aaron and running as Mrs. Jarro and Mari ran behind him. Aaron cried and cried but they didn't stop running until they came to a house Aaron hadn't seen before. Mitchkoff banged on the door. The secretary at the elementary school opened and rapidly ushered them inside. Later he would learn it was a safe house where they could wait to be smuggled to one of the off-world refugee camps, but for now, it was simply the place where they stopped running. Aaron's mother collapsed to the floor of the kitchen, holding her two children in her arms. Mitchkoff stood behind her, gasping for breath.

"Where's Daddy?" Aaron cried.

His mother couldn't answer. She only moaned, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

**O**

Blink, blink.

Blink, blink. Blink, blink.

"Are you going to look at it?" Aaron asked. "Or do you want me to read your mail for you and tell you what it says?"

Blink, blink.

"I don't know," Amanda said, twisting her fingers into a knot under the sheets.

"Well, you have to do something. That light is driving me crazy."

Blink, blink. Blink, blink.

"Is it really bothering you?"

"Yes," Aaron said, turning over onto his side and reaching an arm around her waist.

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay… I'd like you to check the mail." Any day now, word would arrive from Starfleet to say whether she would or would not get into the Academy. It might already be here. That's why she'd been unable to open her mail for the last three days. She was too scared to read any of it.

With a sigh, Aaron got out of bed and went across the dark room of her studio to the message console. He entered her codes and waited for the addresses to appear.

"What does it say?" Amanda demanded.

She saw his naked silhouette turn his head in her direction. "Give it a minute."

"Fine."

"Hey, I'm just the messenger."

"Sorry."

_Beep._

"What does that mean! Is it there!"

Aaron sighed again. "No, it's not there yet. You just have three messages from me asking about next week."

Amanda smacked herself on the forehead. "Oh, that's right! I'm sorry, I've just been so preoccupied…"

He came back to bed. "Save it for tomorrow, okay?" He kissed her on the neck. "Just don't forget. You don't have to spend the whole week with us, but I want to make sure you can at least share a little time with my sister and me."

"I will, I promise."

"It's her first time to Earth."

"I'm not an expert."

"You're human. That'll do."

"Oh, thanks. Care to stick a little card by my cage at the zoo?"

Aaron sat up and turned on a light. "Amanda, what's gotten into you?"

"What?"

"You're acting crazy. What's going on? Do you not want to meet my sister?"

"Of course I want to meet her. I'm just really tense about the Starfleet application."

"Okay, but life doesn't stop just because you're really worried."

"It might stop. What am I supposed to do if I don't get in?"

Aaron didn't answer. Instead, he got up and went for his clothes.

Amanda sat up. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"This is called 'getting dressed.'"

"No shit. Why?"

"Because we've had this conversation enough times, and I don't want to have it any more."

"What, because I told you that I'm worried?"

"Yes, and because you haven't asked me once about how my week has been, how tough school is for me right now and how I might not graduate without an act of Prophecy, how much I don't know what I'll do after I do graduate—assuming I do—and how in the hell I'm supposed to pay my rent when my loans run out next month."

"Aaron, hang on. I'm sorry." She felt her face flush in regret. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings or to neglect him.

"Yeah, I know. I'll see you later." He began walking to the door.

"Aaron!" she said louder. He stopped in the open doorway. "What are you doing? You can't just leave. Come inside. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah. I know."

"Damn it, wait! Okay, I'm not perfect. Tell me what I need to do here."

"It isn't astrophysics, Amanda."

"No, it isn't, or I'd be a lot better at it. Wait! Will you just stop getting dressed and talk to me?"

He didn't stop. She felt like she was trying to hold onto a handful of sand.

"Amanda, figure it out yourself for once," he said calmly and walked out, shutting the door behind him. She wanted to follow, but she didn't have any clothes on.

Amanda was too stunned even to cry. Had she really chased him off so easily? How could he have run?

**O**

Amanda waited two days to talk to Aaron—two more nerve-wracking days without a response from Starfleet, when her fight with her boyfriend was her only distraction. Contacting him was as much an ordeal as checking her mail for word from admissions. She didn't want to push Aaron, but she had also hoped that he would call her. He didn't. So, it was either call him to apologize, or never talk to him again.

It soon became obvious that he wasn't picking up or returning his messages. This was becoming very unpleasant, but she couldn't think of anything to do besides go to his apartment and force him to listen to her. That had overtones of stalking, but it was either that or give up.

In the end, she bought a single red carnation from one of the flower stalls on her way to Aaron's flat, so she'd at least get in the door. Call it bribery, but she'd back it up with real sincerity. She would.

She called him from the com box outside his door, and her heart gave a jump when he answered. "It's me," she said. "I've come to talk. Will you let me in?"

"Amanda…"

"Please," she said.

"I'm a little busy."

"I won't take long," she said. "It's cold out here, can I at least come in and warm up?" It was. The eternally unpredictable weather of San Francisco had turned cold, with a hard, damp wind blowing over the hills.

A pause. "Yeah, sure. Come on up." He buzzed her in.

Amanda hurried up the stairs as if she were rushing to a court date: the whole time she wanted to run the other way, but it would be worse if she did. Aaron had left the door ajar for her and was back in the kitchen, judging by the smell of the Bajoran dinner in the making. She put her scarf and hat on the table, which was covered in books and scrolls and electronic padds, and gingerly poked her head into the kitchen.

Aaron saw her and wiped his hands on a towel. "Hey."

"Hey," she said. She held up the flower, which now seemed utterly ridiculous. "I brought you this."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "Is that for cooking?"

"No! It's… It's pretty. It's for decoration."

"Is it?" He eyed his walls. He'd taken the minimalist approach in filling his apartment, and Amanda knew he wasn't the type to put out fresh flowers.

"Well, fine. Put it in your stew there if you want," she said. "I just brought it so I could get you to listen to me."

"I'm listening." He crossed his arms and leaned against the stove, away from her.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I've been unfair to you. I shouldn't have let myself get so wrapped up in my own business." She felt her face flushing. "I'm sorry."

He turned to where a small pile of strange-looking vegetables was heaped on the tile counter and began pulling leaves off of stems. "It's fine."

"Aaron," she said. "It's not if you say it like that. Come on. This shouldn't be so big that I can't make it up to you."

He set the plants down and sighed. He turned around. "You're right. Let's make up."

She felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as they embraced. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he allowed. "Kind of part of the syllabus."

"How's that?"

"That came out wrong. I just mean, in school we're reading some old Gerina Tolla works—that's a Bajoran theologian, he died during the occupation—about forgiveness. And it just happens to be appropriate now."

"Always glad to supplement the classroom training."

"Here, let me take that. Can you find a vase in the hall closet? I have to stir this."

Amanda gave him the carnation and went to the closet. On the shelf was a glass vase, and as she was reaching to get it, she noticed something else, a dark brown, fuzzy stuffed animal that looked almost like a cat.

"Aaron? What's this?"

He poked his head out of the kitchen, saw the toy, and seemed to turn to stone. "It's nothing. Can you put it back?"

She blinked, confused, but complied. She came back with the vase and gave it to him. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He filled the small vase with drinking water and stuck the flower on the nearest window sill.

Things were already so touchy that Amanda decided to let it pass. "So," she said awkwardly. "You were talking about Gerina Tolla?"

He nodded, still not looking at her. "I was half-kidding. Gerina was talking about forgiveness on a more epic scale."

"You mean, as in forgive the Cardassians?" She frowned. "Tall order."

"You're telling me. Gerina's big thing was about how forgiveness empowers you because your mind has the freedom to love and learn and build and all of those things. Bajorans—humanoids—have a finite amount of space for their spirits. That's why we're not Prophets, right? And he said the major choice in life is how you fill that space. We get to choose between love, anger, grace, all that."

"And Gerina died because of the Cardassians?"

"Yeah, it really hurt his case."

"Does what he said apply here, to you and me?" she asked.

"Well, maybe. I was pretty mad, but then again, you're an easier case than the Cardassians. You didn't kill my father."

She realized that this was only the second time he'd ever mentioned his father. "You don't talk about your father. Does it bother you?"

He went back to the vegetables, peeling off the leaves and tossing them into the boiling pot. "You'd know that if you'd asked before."

Ah. "You're right, I should have."

"Amanda, I know things have been hard for you. I know that better than you seem to realize. Believe it or not, there are people who can relate."

Relate? A tall, handsome, well-adjusted, spiritual guru-in-training, relate to an emotionally stunted loner with a talent for self-directed kamikaze drills? She had doubts.

"Do vediks all preach forgiveness of Cardassians?" she asked, to change the subject. "Is that why you're reading up on this guy?"

"Some orders do. Others are more… vitriolic."

"What about you?"

"Middle of the road. Undecided."

"How old were you when your father was killed?"

"Four or five, human years. But that's not the only thing that happened in my life, you know," he pointed out. "I cook all the time because we didn't have a replicator until I was seventeen. I like books better than padds because we didn't have enough power cells to do our homework as kids, and I got sick of the power running out before I could finish."

Amanda walked over and sniffed the stew. It smelled tangy, almost tropical. "Did you have any kind of solar panels? High-grade miniature models have been around for about fifty years now. We used those in the Maquis."

"Next time I'm a refugee, I'll bring some along."

"Or a terrorist."

"Now that's definitely frowned upon by my order."

Amanda could hear a harder edge in his voice. "I was joking," she said. "A little dark humor. Didn't mean it."

"Right."

"What? Didn't you say your father was a freedom fighter? How is that different?"

"It's different."

"Yeah," she said, "it's different because you won and we died."

"Amanda, for fuck's sake. The war's over."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Didn't you hear? Armistice, treaties, all that. It means that at some point you have to stop being angry and move on."

"Wow. I haven't read any Gerina Tolla, but if he makes you this cranky, I don't want to." She crossed to the window, looking out at the gray skies. "I know the war's over. Don't patronize me."

"I'm not, Amanda," he said. "But I think that you're still letting what happened to your family and your colony control your life."

"What the hell does this have to do with anything? You're not my shrink."

"I'm your friend," he pointed out. "I'm telling you that it's bleeding into the rest of your life. All this obsession over getting into Starfleet, as if it's the only option open to you? The way it's steamrolled everything else in your life—including me? I don't think it's healthy."

Amanda felt stung. "Fuck you."

"Amanda—"

"How dare you sit in judgment of me? And how dare you go along with what I'm doing for all those weeks, when you felt like this all along?"

"I didn't mean it like that. And don't act like I'm betraying you just by…"

"By lying to me?"

"By offering my feelings."

"Is that vedik-speak for insulting me?"

"Amanda, I don't want to fight. I want to have my dinner. Can we deal with this later, when we're not both under so much stress?"

"Fine. Have your dinner. I came over here to apologize to you," she said, "but maybe I'm not the one who's screwed up." He didn't try to stop her as she stormed out of the apartment and back into the rain.

**O**

A day later, the answer from Starfleet came. Amanda literally choked when she saw from where the message had come. She'd been waiting for what seemed like ten years to get this message—so many hours of work, and so much effort. Now it was here. She set down her bag, full of padds and notes from her tutoring work, and looked closer.

"Response to your application" was all the heading said. It took her another five minutes of pacing in her tiny apartment—just think, as soon as August, she could be living in the spacious cadet bunks in the Presidio!—before she could open the message. She wanted very much to call Aaron to have him come and open it for her, but, well… She thought it was better if she let him alone for a little while.

Oh, no. That meant she had to read it herself.

Amanda cleaned off the table and made the bed. Whatever the answer, she knew that cleaning house was the last thing she would be thinking about for a long time. Plus, it was a good way of staving off the inevitable.

Finally, with one last promise to herself that she would keep breathing, whatever the contents of the message, she sat down. She opened her mail reader. She pressed the sequence to open her mail.

_**Dear Amanda Jackson,**_

_**Thank you for your complete application to Starfleet Academy. As you are aware, this institution receives tens of thousands of applications each year for a limited number of slots.**_

_**We regret that we are unable to accept your application for admission.**_

_**Reason provided by admissions committee: FAILURE TO PASS PSYCHOLOGICAL SCREENING.**_

_**Thank you for applying to the Academy, and we applaud your sense of duty and citizenship.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Cmdr. Celia Bartok, Dean of Admissions**_

"I'm still breathing," Amanda thought clearly after she finished reading the message. _I have not stopped breathing._

She stood up and pushed her creaking secretary's chair into the small folding desk where the message console was set. She remained still for a long moment, noting the stained carpet under her bare feet—she'd kicked off her shoes—and the dirty windows that never got cleaned from the outside. There was the old dent in the wall from some former tenant, and the flimsy cabinets in her tiny kitchen. She would never get away from it all.

Amanda moved, for no other reason than she couldn't bear to remain still. Movement put just a little bit of space between her and the rejection. Breathe. Move. Go.

She opened her front door and moved into the hallway. She walked to the stairs. Her legs didn't want to go up, so she walked down instead. She left her building, and moved into the street, the wide, wide street from the days when cars moved up and down the hillside every hour of every day.

"Failure to pass psychological screening," it had said. That was the final phase of the admissions process. She knew that. She had come close.

They almost never took you if you failed your psych screening. It was a black mark.

She froze, staring at the tall, brightly painted plaster walls of the buildings around her. A black mark, her! Breathe, move… Amanda turned to the west. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was shining on the street between the tall buildings. She moved into it so her eyes would have something to say to her brain: "There's the sun. Don't think about the letter." The black mark.

She walked fast, even faster than her normally quick pace. She attracted odd looks from the people around her as she fled in no particular direction, empty handed and on the verge of tears. A semi-coherent thought made its way to the surface: go as far as you can, it said. Get to the ocean. It's easier to breathe there. She had to regain her breath.

She hurried west. At Van Ness, the ground evened into a level surface, and she turned north. The Bay. It was only a few miles away, and she could feel the water on the air, brushing against her face. Amanda could picture it in her memory—the gray-blue waters, the gentle misty air, the wet breezes.

She hurried, gratefully feeling a shiver as the cold wind swept along the thoroughfare. The light drizzle that began as she made her way past Nob Hill to the edge of North Beach was also cold.

After marching so far through the city—with no shoes, as she'd realized not far from her apartment—the sight of green grass and trees on the gentle knolls of Fort Mason was a comfort. It was intense, too, after miles of concrete and structures. It was something different. "Failure to pass psychological screening." She needed something different, anything. She moved into the grass and breathed in the smell. There were families strolling through the late afternoon drizzle together, with no idea of what was happening in the universe.

Amanda turned west again, towards the sun. Towards Starfleet headquarters, too—the skyline stood tall against the late afternoon sky in the Presidio, between her and the Bay. She thought about running—they had accepted the results of her physical, she was in great shape, she always had been, an athlete in high school, before the Cardassians. But the monotony of walking, the jarring feel of her heel on the grass or the sidewalk, she wanted to feel the hard ground. The harsh solidity on her heels, through her ankles to her knees, her back, her teeth, was necessary.

They thought she was crazy, she realized. They thought she was nuts. She was _unstable_. B'Elanna had been right all along.

Amanda stopped only once between her apartment and the Bridge, and that was to crouch into a pitiful ball as she nearly passed out. There, in the hilly walkways of the Presidio, it hit her. She had nothing in her life. She had no futurebut this.

She couldn't stay still, however. She never had been able to. Amanda quickly rose, kept moving and kept breathing and kept feeling for the impact of the ground on her feet. As she moved, a small thought made its way through the humiliation. "Humanoids have a finite amount of space for their spirits," Aaron had said. "The choice is how you fill that space."

Amanda walked through the pedestrian gates to the walkway of the Golden Gate Bridge, wondering what choice she had. And she decided that Aaron was wrong. She didn't know about his, but her spirit was not finite. There was no limit to how lonely the universe could be.

The realization set her shaking, and she stopped and held onto the orange metal of the bridge's rail. To think that she would never rise above this isolation, no matter how hard she worked.

A long time passed before she could register any other sensation.

The wind blew stronger, here on the bridge. She gazed through her tears and the blowing mists to the water below, wondering about the distance to the water. What would it be like, those few, fleeting moments before impact? She hadn't come here to jump, though. Dimly, she was aware that staggering barefoot through the city and crying as she stared into the mists was at the least unusual, but the notion of ending her life simply stared back at her with a monolithic "no." She didn't know why, only that bridge suicides were only something that happened to odd, unfamiliar aliens who made their way to Earth and didn't have enough sense to know better, to keep themselves afloat.

What did they think? As soon as they stepped away from the last vestige of support, what went through their minds? The sure knowledge that the infinite capacity for misery would soon be snuffed… The sheer terror at what they'd feel upon striking the water. Did any of them feel regret, even before they jumped?

Keep breathing, keep moving, keep looking into the sun. Amanda was facing east, but she could see long shadows from the setting sun before her, even through the clouds. The mist obscured most of the Bay—she could only barely make out the outlines of the Marin coast on the far side of the bridge. Was all this sensation enough to keep her feeling for the ground beneath her feet? Why should it? She wondered.

"Nice day for a stroll, isn't it?"

Amanda turned her head to see a Vulcan man standing not far away, peering back at her curiously. He had no expression except watchfulness. He was tall with dark hair, like Vorik, and he wore a plain gray suit.

"Yes," she said. It was the first time she'd spoken since reading the message. She tasted the salty tears at the corners of her mouth.

"Are you all right?" the Vulcan asked mechanically.

"Yes," she answered. "Thank you."

He waited, then nodded, and began to move away. A gust of cloud blew between them, blurring her sight of his slow, leisurely retreat. She'd walked so far, and this was the first person who had spoken to her in all that time. She was violently alone.

Amanda turned again to the Bay. She closed her eyes, lifted her head to breathe in the air. There, that feeling—that quiet ache as her lungs inflated each time, just at the peak of the breath, that was where she saw it. An invisible net spread beneath the Bridge, one that told her, don't bother. It doesn't matter what they say… You're not so far gone as all that.

**O**

How long she stood there, Amanda simply didn't know, because the dope they gave her dulled the edges of what she remembered. It had to have been at least a few minutes, but more than that? Perhaps. She could however recall the sensation of a thick-shouldered body in uniform grabbing her suddenly from behind and hauling her away from the railing. He knocked the air out of her so her protests were reduced to a wheezy gasp.

Her head bounced against the concrete as they tumbled to the ground. Flashes of color flooded her vision, blinding her to any other assailants. She could hear the gasps of surrounding pedestrians as they scooted away in surprise, though. The uniformed man rolled her over and pinned both wrists behind her back.

Amanda was preparing to counter the move with the martial arts she'd learned so well in the Maquis, then again in drills under Tuvok, when a second person rushed up behind her and blocked it. With both their weights holding her down, she couldn't fight.

"What in fucking hell," she gasped.

"Remain still," one of them, the first man, told her sternly. "You'll be all right."

"The hell I will," she snapped, wheezing for air. "Get off!"

"Please relax," said another voice. It was the Vulcan who had approached her just minutes before. Amanda could only barely see his outline in the corner of her eye; the second patroller had a large hand on the back of her head, gently forcing her forehead onto the pavement. But, she could see the shadow of an arm reaching toward her with a hypospray, and she felt it cold against her neck. Knowing what it was, she flinched to avoid it, but she couldn't get away. The hypospray hissed, and the contours of the struggle dissolved as she passed out.

**O**

Amanda woke up infuriated. Typically, when she'd been under anesthesia in the past, she'd come to without a thought in her head, and had only gradually regained some sense of what had happened. This time, she woke up enormously pissed off, which served as some testament to how angry she'd been when they'd put her under.

She looked around her slowly, wondering what to break first. There was a thin sheet covering her, and a flimsy gown in place of her clothes. A console was set into the wall behind the head of her bed, but that seemed too sturdy. She was in a small, narrow space with dim lights—also unbreakable—and a wide doorway with force field emitters (on the outside, naturally). A young woman with blonde hair wearing a blue-shouldered Starfleet uniform stood watching her from the other side of the field.

Amanda cleared her throat, testing her voice. "Am I in a Starfleet facility?" she asked.

"That's correct," the woman said, then bit her lip.

Oh, the irony. It was almost laughable, if she were of a mind, which she wasn't. And a fucking rookie to watch over her, too boot. "Go to hell," Amanda told her guard.

"I'll get one of the doctors," the cadet said, then disappeared past Amanda's field of vision.

"Yeah, you do that." As she waited, Amanda wondered whether it would be more productive to show that she was sane, or to feign instability. She had been beautifully _un-_suicidal at the moment of her arrest by the Suicide Watch, so perhaps the reverse would gain her freedom.

After a minute of further seething, she heard the doors outside whoosh open and closed. "You're welcome to observe, Cadet," a male voice was saying quietly, as though to end a conversation. He was approaching her cell. Amanda decided she'd rather die sitting up, so she hauled herself upright.

The doctor was an older human gentleman with glasses—did anybody still wear those things anymore? What was wrong with lasers?—and a padd, poised and ready for data input. "Good morning, Ms. Jackson," the doctor said.

Morning, was it? "How did you know my name?" she asked, eyeing the forcefield emitters.

"It's standard procedure to check the DNA of incoming patients against Starfleet and Federation records," he explained. "I understand you served on _Voyager_."

"'Served' is such a loose expression."

The doctor gave her a puzzled look and made a note on his padd. "May I come in?" he asked, gesturing to her cell.

Amanda made a great show of pretending to decide. "Yes," she finally said. "You may come in."

She waited patiently as the orderly lowered the force field. The doctor climbed through, and the cadet raised the field again. "My name is Doctor Reilly," he said, extending a hand in greeting.

Amanda observed his hand, steady but pale from lack of sunlight. "Just so you know, Doctor Reilly," Amanda said, "I decided not to attack you and hold you hostage when you entered, which would have been very easy given my background in hand-to-hand. Just like I decided _not to jump off the fucking bridge before your thugs came and assaulted me!_"

Dr. Reilly retracted his hand calmly and pulled out a tricorder, which he used to check her over—from an arm's length away. "I'm sorry if there's been a misunderstanding."

"Holy fucking Khitomer!" she spewed. "If I'd known it was this easy to get into Starfleet, I would never have applied to the Academy. Let alone gotten myself hauled across the galaxy on a ship meant for weekend vacations! I'm surprised you can keep anybody out."

"Ms. Jackson—"

"I mean, if all I had to do to get into the heart of Starfleet was attempt to leap off the Golden Gate Bridge, or should I say, _look _as though I might possibly do so, then I could have been in here _years _ago."

"Ms. Jackson, I—"

"Be careful next time you take a stroll around the vicinity of Starfleet, Cadet," Amanda called out to the blonde girl. "You never know what will happen to you in this town! Boy, a romantic walk along the Bay just ain't what it used to be!"

"Are you finished?" Dr. Reilly said, infuriatingly calmly.

"Yes, thanks very much. I'll be on my way now. By the way, can I have the clothes you apparently removed from my sleeping body when you shot me full of whatever? I've been wondering what happened to those."

"Ms. Jackson, we can't allow you to leave just now."

"How did I ever guess."

"We realize that on occasion, the patrol brings in individuals from the bridge who are not suicidal, in fact, but that happens only rarely—"

"I always knew I was special."

"—and we have to take precautions. I'd like a specialist to see you this morning, and if she says it's all right, then we can release you. I'm sorry for any inconvenience."

"Yeah. And until then?"

"Cadet Holden here will bring you some breakfast."

"Oh, so it's a bed and breakfast?" Amanda said. "Thank goodness, for a minute there I thought you'd thrown me in jail. In that case, Cadet, I like my eggs sunny-side up."

Dr. Reilly didn't even react, damn him. "We can't provide you with any utensils with sharp edges. I'm sure you understand."

That was the last straw. Amanda glowered at the doctor. "Get out," she ordered. He was already on his way, but at least the illusion of ordering him around made her feel microscopically better.

Dr. Reilly nodded to the cadet, who released the force field and brought it up once more when he was through. "Our specialist will be along shortly," he said, and left.

Oh, the misery. Amanda got busy staring at the wall.

**O**

Amanda had no way of telling the time, but she assumed that it was late morning when a short and curvy woman in her forties appeared at the gate, bearing Amanda's clothes. The woman was a commander, and she also wore a blue uniform. She released the force field herself and walked through without bringing it up behind her.

"My name is Counselor Deanna Troi," the woman said, with an exotic-sounding accent. She set the clothes on Amanda's bed. "I'm here to visit with you."

"They sent a commander?" Amanda said, surprised. "Just how crazy do they think I am?"

Troi smiled. At least _she _had a sense of humor. "They were fresh out of lieutenants this morning."

"Excellent."

"You know Starfleet ranks, then?"

"You know I do," Amanda pointed out as she turned her back to change her clothes. "You must have read my file."

"That's true, I did read it this morning."

"Pretty colorful, isn't it?" Amanda said, stepping into her pants. "I was thinking of finding a literary agent, making a few credits."

"I'm afraid Starfleet holds the rights."

"Damn. You people run everything, don't you?"

"May I ask you something, Ms. Jackson?" Troi asked. She had large, dark eyes that seemed to take in an awful lot.

"You may ask." Amanda jerked the gown off and replaced it with her own shirt. Blechhh. It smelled of antiseptics. Where had they kept her things, a broom closet?

"I wanted to know why you applied for entrance to Starfleet Academy if you don't particularly care for rank, or for the Fleet itself."

"What makes you think I don't?" Amanda reached for the comb that Troi was offering.

"I'm empathic, you know," Troi said, "but I don't often need to call upon those abilities. In this case, the way you talk about Starfleet and to the officers is evidence enough. I realize you're quite upset—"

"How could you tell!" A few teeth broke off the comb that she jerked roughly through her long, thick hair.

"But the way you've been talking this morning doesn't indicate a great deal of respect for Starfleet."

"Is that why I'm still in jail?" Amanda laughed at the irony as she retrieved the bits of broken comb from her hair. They were like small yellow plastic flower petals that had fallen into her auburn waves. "You know, all that time in the Maquis, I was scared they'd arrest me, a little kid at war. Instead, it took me seven and a half years plus an evening stroll to get arrested properly!"

"You're not under arrest."

"Yeah. Pull the other one."

"You're under watch. Starfleet does take care of her own."

"I'm not one of her own, Commander," Amanda pointed out. "You've obviously read that for yourself."

"I have. I'm sorry; the news of your rejection must be very disappointing."

Amanda didn't answer. She didn't trust herself.

"May I ask what you're planning to do now?" Troi asked. "Or is it too soon?"

_Breathe_, Amanda thought.

"Amanda?"

"I don't know yet. Listen, can I leave?"

Troi hesitated. "Ms. Jackson, so far, I can't say that I would be comfortable agreeing to that."

"_What!_"

Troi held up a hand. "Wait, please. You're not under arrest, despite what it looks like. You can leave, but we have to be sure that you're with someone responsible."

"Commander, maybe you didn't pick up on it with your empathy, but I was actually telling the truth. I'm not going to jump, I wasn't going to jump, this was all an incredibly inconvenient mistake on the part of your Vulcan patrol officer, and why the hell do you have a Vulcan on Suicide Watch in the first place!"

"I realize that you are telling the truth," Troi said, her voice low in an attempt to soothe her patient. "But as you noted, I've read your file. In my professional opinion, Starfleet ought to have taken better care of you when you returned."

"So now I have to have a signed note before I can leave the principal's office?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. We want to make sure there's someone in your life to help you out. It's more than just procedure, Amanda," Troi explained. "Most of your crewmates elected to pursue counseling after your return. You didn't. And from what I understand, you have been through a lot of painful experiences. I believe that you were not about to kill yourself yesterday, but your reaction to the letter from Starfleet was very extreme nonetheless. You've been living alone and out of contact with anyone from _Voyager_. Your choice to apply to the Academy was surprising—"

"To whom?" Amanda snapped.

"To anyone who knows you."

Amanda was about to respond when she realized what Troi was referring to. "You mean—It was someone from the crew who…"

"I'm not permitted to tell you the name of the individuals who made the judgment on your psychological evaluation, but yes. One of them was part of the _Voyager _crew."

Amanda felt like the wind had been knocked out of her all over again. How could they have done this to her? Who was it? B'Elanna? Tom? Chakotay? None of _them_ were still with the Fleet, could they have done it? Who?

"You've been through a lot, Amanda. I have a feeling that you'll pull through this," Troi said, "but I want to see you leave here in the company of someone who cares about you."

Amanda opened her eyes. "Commander, read the fucking file. There is no one left."

Troi waited a moment before responding. "Please try." She exited the room, and reset the force field on her way.

**O**

Amanda had no choice but to call Aaron. After two hours of straining herself to come up with some other option, she simply couldn't think of an alternative, other than to stay in a Starfleet holding cell for the rest of her days, shooting dirty looks at little Miss Cadet Holden. No, she'd just have to sack her pride and ask Aaron for help.

She had Holden place the call for her, and even so, it was somewhere around dinnertime—the second watch had relieved Holden an hour ago—before Aaron came. When he did, he looked like he was on the winning side of a firing squad.

Amanda expected about as much, but she didn't want to give Beta Shift a show. "Thanks for coming," she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

Aaron didn't say anything at first. He just looked around the hallway and craned his neck to see inside the other cells, which Amanda assumed were empty, judging by the silence. "I've never been on Starfleet grounds before."

"Welcome. So, were you out or something? I've been waiting…"

He leveled his gaze on her, his gray eyes bright against his tanned face. "I was trying to make up my mind whether to come or not."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard. I almost didn't come, but I decided to do the right thing."

She stared. "Thanks very much. Once we're out of here, you can explain to me what you're thinking."

"Do I have to explain?" he said quietly.

"Are you stalling or something? Aaron, I don't know what the hell they told you, but this was a gigantic, embarrassing mistake. I didn't do anything—the Vulcan thought I was going to jump, but I wasn't. I was taking a walk to calm down, and—"

"Is that all!"

"Yes! And the counselor they have here doesn't want to let me out unless someone's holding my hand, so can you sign the fucking permission slip? I'll explain the rest later, but for right now—"

"I don't need you to explain. They told me everything."

She was glaring at him now. "So what's the problem? Are you trying to make me feel like shit by standing here and embarrassing me? Am I supposed to beg? Do you want to dismiss the cadet there so we can have some kind of kinky jailhouse fantasy?"

"Amanda!"

"'Cause I'm really at a loss."

"Are you? Let me explain something," he said. "I'm angry."

"Got that. Same here."

"And this is the first time since I've met you that you've been somewhere that forced you to do a little self-reflection, and you still refuse."

"Okay, point one," she snapped, "before I met you, I spent seven years trapped in a torpedo bay, working on self-reflection. Didn't care for it. Point two, what the fuck are you, my therapist?"

"I'm the guy who's tired of getting kicked around because you can't deal with your own problems!" he said loudly.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Shouting at each other wasn't going to get her out. "Aaron, I realize that I've been in a bad mood lately. I tried to talk to you about that the other day, but—"

"But what, you thought coming over to my place and throwing everything I told you back in my face would solve the problem?"

"No," she admitted. "However, I think that the two of us standing on either side of a force field in a Starfleet mental ward isn't doing us any favors, either."

"I didn't put you there."

"Right, but you're not getting me out, which is more to the point."

He threw up his hands angrily. "Will you cut the sarcasm, just for once? If you can stoop to realize it, I'm being serious."

"So am I!" she exploded. So much for staying calm. "What the hell is your problem? I'm sorry this inconveniences you, but this whole situation is just a stupid mistake, and I didn't have anyone else to call. So once again, if you can just get me out, then we can talk more later."

"Where do I begin? The part where I'm nothing but a last resort? Or the 'just a stupid mistake?'" he demanded. "You really think that's it? Amanda. You walked three miles through the city in your bare feet, deranged out of your damn head, because you got rejected from the Academy. Life has rejections, Amanda! You can't get around it! Am I supposed to stay by your side patiently every time you flip out because life doesn't go your way?"

"Yes!" Amanda shouted. "That's what you do if you love someone."

"How would you know!"

She blanched. "What?"

"And what about the lover in this little equation you've decided on? What do I get?"

Amanda felt his words like a blow to the gut. "Are you saying I haven't given you anything? Fuck you. I have trusted you. I… I love you."

"And?" he said.

"There is no 'and,'" she said, "and there shouldn't have to be."

"I'm at the end of my rope, Amanda. You are draining me. I love you, too, but—"

"There shouldn't be a 'but,' either!"

"Well, there is. I can't be a nursemaid to your grief and anger. It's using me up."

"What are you saying?"

He looked at his feet. "I'm not sure."

"Aaron, wait. Don't do this now. Let's just get out of here so we can talk this through." Amanda stepped closer to him and reached out to touch him. In doing so, she accidentally triggered the force field, and it sent a fast and painful shock up her arm. She jumped back in alarm. "Shit," she said, flexing her fingers to bring the feeling back.

Aaron edged a little closer, but unlike her, he stayed mindful of the field. "Careful. Are you all right?" He looked so concerned.

Amanda gazed at him. His gray eyes, beautiful and serious. He'd momentarily forgotten his anger, and looked on her with… pity. Could that be it? Could all of his love for her simply be the kindness he extended to every person—was that all there had ever been? Had he never realized just what she really was, for all the times she tried to tell him?

"You don't know me, or you wouldn't ask that," she told him. She reached out the same hand and deliberately placed her palm against the force field, which buzzed angrily on contact. This time she kept it there.

"Amanda, what are you doing?" He backed away.

"Do you think I'm not strong enough to deal with my problems?" she asked him calmly. "Do you think I can't cope with pain?"

Aaron turned to the cadet. "Call someone," he told the young cadet, who rushed to the console at the far end of the corridor. "Amanda, stop it."

"You're about to leave me, aren't you?" she said. Her whole arm was numb now.

"Take your hand away!"

"This isn't suicide, Aaron," she said. "This is _me_. No more dismissing it. I am a mess, I'm cracked up. I'm nothing but pieces. But I'm so much stronger than you. Take it or leave it."

He looked into her eyes. He was afraid.

Not of what she was doing. Of her.

"Amanda," he whispered.

Her wrist was shaking as the muscles of her arm went into spasms and her eyes watered in pain, but she held her ground. "Get out."

There was a final, excruciating moment between them before Aaron nodded, turned, and walked away. Amanda waited until she heard the sound of the doors closing before removing her hand and collapsing to the floor in pain.

**O**

"So, I hear you've got yourself in some trouble," a familiar voice said. Amanda raised her head to see Chakotay standing at the gates to her cell. It was evening of the next day, and she'd hardly eaten, slept, moved, or breathed since Aaron's departure.

She put her head back down. "Who told you? Is everyone from _Voyager _going to stop by my padded cell now? Are they going to broadcast it on the news?" She sighed. "How much do I have to pay you to keep this quiet?"

"How many questions was that, four?" Chakotay chuckled. "One, a woman by the name of Commander Deanna Troi contacted me this morning. I was a couple solar systems away, so I'm sorry for the delay. I caught the first flight in. Two, I doubt it. Three, I don't see any camera crews. And four, don't worry. It's already on my tab"

She heard him release the force field. "Funny. I thought they'd stopped arresting the Maquis," he said as he entered.

Amanda sighed and sat up. "Yeah. I was always behind the times." She eyed him carefully. "You do know this was all a mistake, right? I wasn't going to jump."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know. I didn't think you were the type."

"It's about time someone takes my side."

"Now, about the other stuff…"

She groaned. "Not you, too. Everything I've been hearing has been people telling me, 'Sorry about the bridge, but you're still too fucked up to leave.' What do they want?"

"Relax, Jackson," Chakotay said. "I'll help you get out of here, we'll talk later. Come on."

"Really?" After two days of humiliation and the horrible visit from Aaron, Amanda thought she would run out of here at the first opportunity. For some reason, though, she felt unmotivated. There was an emptiness that had taken up residence under her breastbone, ever since Aaron had left. She could leave the jail, yes, but what for?

Noticing that she hadn't made a move to leave, Chakotay leaned against her bed pensively. "I think Troi wanted me to ask you about how you're adjusting to life after _Voyager_."

"Are you asking?" Amanda wiggled the fingers on her right hand in front of her face; it had taken several hours for the feeling to come back after her prolonged handshake with the force field, and she still wondered about the nerve endings. Doctor Reilly had told her she would be fine, but he'd made an awful lot of notes.

"I figure that's your business, but you can tell me if you want."

Amanda shrugged. "I've been getting by."

"Met anybody?"

She looked at her feet. "He's gone."

Chakotay didn't say anything for a bit. "I've been working for some research organizations. Administrative duties."

"Really?"

"Boring work, but the quiet life is nice. The Admiral stops by when she can."

"Commander?" Amanda said curiously. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought I'd come as a friend, not your officer." He shrugged. "Troi really does want me to grill you about the problems you had on _Voyager_, though. I hear somebody failed you on your psych evaluation?"

She blanched. "If you tell a single soul about that application, I will find you and make you pay."

"Your secret's safe with me, Jackson," Chakotay said, "but I wonder why you applied if you didn't want anyone to know."

_Because I didn't want them to know when I failed_, she thought.

"So, about that pysch evaluation…" he said.

"Who was it on _Voyager _who failed me!"

"I don't know, but it wasn't me. I promise. They didn't even ask."

"Starfleet is wrong!" she snapped.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Chakotay agreed.

"I'm fine. I'm not crazy."

"That's good." He waited for her breathing to calm. "Life in the Fleet's okay, but personally, I think you're better off. You have a lot more options that you would as another mindless drone of the administration."

"Mindless drone?"

"It's not all it's cracked up to be."

Amanda shook her head. "I never knew you felt this way."

"What?" he said, laughing. "I left the Fleet the first time because I needed to defend my home world, and the Starfleet bureaucracy wouldn't budge. You had to have guessed that I wasn't happy with the system."

"Oh…" She hadn't really thought about that, not while Chakotay was in the uniform on _Voyager_.

"I did what I had to on _Voyager _so that we could all get by," he said. "But you'll notice I'm a civilian now. Same as you."

"What am I supposed to do, though?" she asked him. She wanted very badly to lie down again. "I know Starfleet. I don't know anything else."

"You always have something else, Amanda," he said. "You're different than most people. I know your life has thrown a lot in your path, but you've always been better at looking into the fire than charting a course away from it."

Amanda hadn't thought of it that way before. Maybe he was right.

"Do you want my advice?" he asked. She looked at him; he seemed in earnest, so she nodded.

"You're a smart girl—woman," he corrected himself. "I know things have been rough for you. But try calling on your old friends. I think there are several of us who don't give a damn what Starfleet thinks. We'll help you out, but only if you ask."

"I don't even know who's out there."

"Come on, Jackson," he said. "Think. Self-pity won't get you anywhere. What about Chell? You two were stationed together almost the whole seven years. Have you talked to him?"

"On purpose?"

Chakotay grinned. "Okay, Chell might be annoying, but he's very loyal. He could be a good job recommendation, and he's the best person to go to if you want to get in touch with anyone else. Or what about B'Elanna?"

"B'Elanna?" Amanda felt humiliated just thinking about her last in-depth conversation with her former officer. "She hates me."

Chakotay's brows rose in surprise. "Hates you? Not at all."

"Please," Amanda muttered.

"Weren't you in engineering long enough to notice that B'Elanna is only hard on the people she cares about? She ignored Vorik for about four years."

Amanda giggled in spite of herself. Okay, so maybe she wasn't the only one who had a few embarrassing stories from the _Voyager _years.

"Besides," Chakotay reasoned, "look at Tom Paris. I've never seen her get angrier at anyone else, and look how that wound up."

"I'm not going to marry her, Chakotay."

"No, but I bet she'd give you a leg up, if you asked."

"Why do I always have to be the one to ask?"

He held up his hands in a shrug. "How else will we know you need the help? It's not just you, anyway. Look at me, I didn't have much more than you when we got back. But I sucked up my pride and dropped by the res for first time since I was twelve. One of the tribal councilmen's daughters had a lead on the job I have now."

"The res?"

"Reservation. The Cherokee out in Oklahoma still got some land that's just ours. Sorry—Indians still call it the res, it's a pre-first contact government term. Well, second contact, to us."

"I didn't know any of that."

Chakotay smiled. "Everybody's got a story. I'll spring for dinner and you can hear the rest over fajitas. Now come on. I'm breaking you out of this jail cell."

"Chakotay?"

"Hmm?"

She felt her face flushing. "I don't know where to go now."

He shrugged. "I suggest leaving this cell and coming to dinner. After that, it's up to you."


	4. Chapter 4

Finite Space

by Liz

chapter 4

_in which our heroine retreads old paths, __and redemption doesn't come easy__

* * *

_

It was weeks later that Amanda balked when she saw the admission price for a self-guided tour of the _Voyager _replica. They wanted _how _much? Just to walk around a lousy space ship?

"Ma'am? How many visitors today?" the young woman at the window asked again.

"Don't you have some kind of VIP rate?"

"Members of the media are asked to contact the press office for a special pass. Do you have a special pass?"

Amanda sighed and shook her head, forking over the dough. She supposed she could have talked her way in, but fifteen credits was probably worth the price of anonymity. She just wanted to get in, talk to Chell, get out—not cause a scene. "Which way is the restaurant?"

"Here's a map of _Voyager_'s floor plan. Our museum is an exact replica; restrooms are on deck two aft."

Amanda narrowed her eyes at the clerk, who smiled back impatiently. She pointedly left the map on the counter. "Thanks, I've been here before," she said and walked into the corridor from the mock shuttle bay where the admissions desks had been set up. _Exact replica, my ass. I'll find it myself._

The smell was different. That was the first thing she noticed. There had always been the faint hint of engine grease and gel and frayed circuits. This corridor smelled… sterile. She suspected that if she were to knock down any of the panel coverings, there wouldn't be any circuitry whatsoever.

A small herd of school children swarmed past her, all of them wearing identical orange and black shirts with their school name written on it, East Toronto Montessori. The corridor was already kind of full, with tour groups and individual visitors wandering back and forth. The children especially seemed thrilled to be there. "Mom!" a boy shouted nearby, with the same enthusiasm for gadgetry that turns every adolescent male into a six-year-old. "Check it out—the transporter room has the same actual system components as the original vessel. Let's go there first!"

Amanda refrained from pointing out that the only reason why they were the same components was because the engineers on _Voyager _had had to rewire and repair them so many times that they weren't even remotely regulation anymore. No 'Fleet ground crew would ever send out a ship with such off-spec systems, so they removed them when _Voyager _was ready for her next mission and dumped the mess in the museum. Amanda knew this to be true of several major engineering components.

She weaved her way through the crowds, feeling a kind of heady confusion at the strangeness of it all. Briefly, she considered touring the crew quarters, just to see what they'd done with her and Jor's place; a communication had gone out in the first few weeks after _Voyager_'s return, asking for volunteers who would be interested in donating items or offering suggestions to personalize the replica. Naturally, Amanda had ignored it, but now, perversely, she really wished she had said something.

She did take her time walking through the corridors, though, as curiosity got the best of her. The holodecks were running continuous simulations of a few of the worlds they'd visited; the display panel outside informed visitors that for an extra fee and with advance reservations, they could host private parties that would adventure through the Nyrian spaceship or the Vidiian mines, at varying levels of difficulty. The Borg regeneration setup was blinking away in the same old cargo bay, and visitors could have their pictures taken as they stood inside and pretended to recharge or something, which Amanda found perfectly macabre. And she purposely didn't go anywhere near engineering, much less her old station in the weapons bay.

Finally, the mess hall. From the noise and the crowd inside, this seemed like one of the replica's main attractions. She caught a peek of Chell behind the counter, cooking away, but he was surrounded by adoring crowds and she couldn't see a way to sneak past them to talk to him. She wanted to give up, but, well… She'd come this far. Amanda got in line.

It didn't seem to take too long, actually—the real fuss seemed to be as folks stuck around to watch Chell actually fix the food. Before she even got close, Amanda could tell he loved, no, _adored _the attention. A pancake of some kind flipped through the air above the heads of the tourists, who let out a collective _ahhh_. Unbelievable.

"What can we get for you today?" said the tired-looking guy who was taking orders behind the counter, with a white apron that reached down to his ankles.

"Actually, well, I'm sorry. But I just wanted to talk to the cook. We're old friends."

He looked at her like she was crazy.

"No, really. I do. We are. It won't take long."

His eyes narrowed. "Shall I tell him who wants to speak to him?"

Amanda sighed. "Tell him Amanda Jackson needs some com link info from him, that's all."

"Uh-huh." The waiter clambered his way through a kitchen area that was crowded with far more equipment than _Voyager _ever had at their disposal so he could talk to Chell. Amanda sighed and leaned with her elbows on the counter. _The things I do to for redemption_.

"Amanda!" Chell's voice fairly exploded across the room. "Look at you! Ladies and gentleman, let me introduce you to one of my very own former crewmates, Miss Amanda Jackson!"

And her cover was blown. Everyone in the restaurant turned at once to gawk at Amanda. "Look, Jonah, that's one of the crew!" a mother said to her young son. He clapped a hand to his mouth. They seemed to think she was a fireworks display.

"Come here, honey!" Chell emerged from behind the counter. "Get back here with me and help me out before the soufflé burns."

"The soufflé?" she said, baffled.

"Now what on earth do you think you're doing just walking in here like that?" he asked her at the same sing-song volume that he'd been using with the crowds before she arrived. "You are a Very Important Person, Miss Jackson!"

"Well, I wouldn't say that…"

"You should have called and let me know you were coming, really. Come on, come on. Folks, it looks like I have a new sous-chef!"

"Sous-what?"

Chell handed her a spatula. "So what have you been up to, Miss Amanda?" he said, so everyone could hear.

"Oh. Well…" She waved the spatula in the air dismissively. "I've just been around, you know…"

"Honey, that's a spatula, not a baton. Put that thing to work!"

"Doing what? I just came here because I need a com link number for—"

Chell looked at her sternly, and the crowds laughed appreciatively. "Honey, you have to work for your supper. Or, well, for _their _supper. Come on, I know you can cook something. What about all those lessons I gave you in the Delta Quadrant?"

"Lessons? What? You never… Oh. Okay." She could tell she wasn't getting anything out of him without a fight. "I suppose I could fry an egg…"

"There we go!" he cheered.

She shrugged and wondered what health code violation she was committing as she looked around at all the spectators. The kid she'd seen earlier and his sister were standing right in front. She pointed at the boy, Jonah. "So, you want a fried egg?" She thought she could manage that; Aaron had showed her how once or twice.

He stared at her, wide-eyed. "I'm allergic to eggth," he said, flashing the gap of a recently lost baby tooth.

His older sister scoffed in that older sister way. "I'm not. I'll take an egg!" Okay…

"Mom!" Jonah whined. "I want thomething to eat, too! I want her to cook me thomething!" The mother looked at Amanda expectantly.

"Well, I guess I could work up some bacon…"

"I'm Jewish!" Jonah said at a near-shriek, as if she'd been trying to poison him.

"Okay!" Amanda said helplessly. "Sorry! Chell?"

"Okay, Mister," Chell said. "What about a strawberry shake? Totally kosher."

Jonah grinned, the gap in his teeth like the distance between stars.

"You do kosher?" Amanda said.

"There's a fresh pitcher in the refrigerator to your left," he said under his breath to her. "Just stick it in the blender for a second, he'll think you made it from scratch."

Amanda shrugged and got to work, cracking the egg on the grill and listening to Chell's performance. Apparently, she was now his foil as he recounted several adventures starring himself, in which she seemed to recall him having only the most marginal of roles when they had actually taken place. His audience was enthralled.

"It's just so great to be able to interact with living history," Jonah's mother told Amanda. "And so great for the kids."

"Well, you gotta keep busy somehow." Amanda poured the shake.

"What did you do on _Voyager_?" the mother asked her, clearly looking for some heroism equal to Chell's.

"Me?" Amanda wasn't sure how to answer. "Just another body in engineering. You know."

"Now, Miss Amanda, you're selling yourself short," Chell interjected. "I don't think that's all you did."

She looked at him fearfully. He wasn't about to tell any stories, was he? Had he already been telling stories about her, and what she'd done all those years?

"Ladies and gentleman, Miss Jackson here is one of Starfleet's foremost experts in artificial environmental reinforcement. Anytime the gravity failed—and boy, did it fail!—Amanda was there in a jiffy to set us all on our feet again. Say, do you remember that time when Tom Paris accidentally caused a malfunction in life support thanks to his James Dean holodeck simulation?"

Now she was sure _that _had never happened, but Amanda caught his drift. He was protecting her.

She smiled wanly. "You tell that one so well. Go ahead."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they had escaped the kitchen and were strolling through some of the lower decks as Chell took his break. 

"Isn't it just fitting?" Chell observed. "Before, we spent all those years trapped in the belly of the ship by ourselves. And now, you can't _pay_ the museum visitors to come down here. They all want to be where the action was. Or where they think it was. This is the only place where I can catch a nanosecond of peace!"

"Yeah, it's quiet, isn't it." Amanda eyed him curiously. He just seemed so different now. "Chell, you're really looking great," she said.

"And that's a euphemism for, 'Hey, blueface, you're not as annoying as you used to be!'" He laughed. "Don't worry, I've heard it from other people, too. See, you weren't the only one who didn't fit in so well on _Voyager_," Chell said. "The life of action was never for me. I'm finally in my element now!"

Amanda wasn't sure what to say. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"It's okay."

They were quiet for a bit as they wandered. Amanda wasn't really sure what to say. All she needed was a com number and maybe a rec from him, but now, all of a sudden, there seemed to be a lot more ground to cover.

"So really, what have you been up to, Amanda?" he said. "You vanished. Nobody's heard from you. We thought you'd jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge or something!"

Amanda took a moment before answering that one. "I just needed some space. I couldn't go back to it so soon, not like you have."

"Oh, please. You call this going back? If even a tenth of all the garbage I tell people in a given day is true, you can shoot me out an airlock. This isn't where we lived. These folks just want to be entertained."

"You don't feel bad lying to them?"

"If anybody really wants to know the truth, there are books for sale in the gift shop. Which is actually just starboard of engineering." He poked her in the arm in that annoying way he'd always had. "Besides, Amanda. There are a lot of stories I don't want repeated, about me or anyone else."

She finally met his eyes. "Thanks."

He smiled with self-satisfaction. "We have to look out for each other. I can do that better here than in the Delta Quandrant."

Amanda stopped. She realized where they were. "The weapons bay."

He nodded. "Terra familia. Come on."

She hesitated. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come on. I've got something to show you."

"Chell, no. Please. I can't go back."

"Amanda," he said, taking her hand in his—an unromantic yet intimate gesture. "We're not going back. It's different now, I promise."

She still didn't want to, but he opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder. "Besides," he called, "I won't give you B'Elanna's com number until you get in here."

"You know I can kick your ass if you try anything, right?" she called down after him.

He didn't answer. Irritated and a little frightened, Amanda tenderly made her way down the ladder.

The dimensions were the same as with the actual weapons bay, but the similarities stopped there. The lights were dim; there were a few plush floor pillows strewn about the place. Some colorful mobiles hung from the parts of the ceiling that were too low to stand under. "This isn't the same as I remember it, either."

Chell grinned like a little boy and set about rearranging the pillows. "See? It's my sanctuary! I told them this was how we actually set things up, and they actually believed me. After all, it's not like there was anyone—well, anyone but you—who would bother to correct them, and if anybody ever makes it down here? Ha! Pillow fight!" He prepared to throw a bright yellow cushion at her face.

Now he was being his old self. "Chell, I'm not twelve."

"Sure, sure. Everybody's gotta be a grown-up. Look at this!" He pushed a couple buttons and a dissonant recording began playing. "Bolian fiddle music. Humans get so snooty about it, but I think it's just dandy."

"Oh. Yeah, I like it."

"Pants on fire." He opened another hatch, to the same spot—the replica of the same spot—where Amanda had caused so many of her accidents. "And there it is."

"Damn it, Chell, why did you bring me here?" She was having a hard time controlling her breathing. It felt like she might choke or pass out.

He shut it again. "Okay, you don't have to go down there. I just wanted to show you… Well. I just wanted to show you that it won't go off anymore. Okay, this one never did, but you get the point."

"No, I don't!"

"Amanda, no more explosions. That's all. It's done. It's over."

"Everybody's a therapist." Amanda's eyes began burning. "It's never over. The dreams, the flashbacks, the bad memories. How can you just say it's done?"

"Somebody has to."

"Oh, shut up already!" she snapped. "Don't you get it? You and your pillows and your strawberry shakes. You think this heals everything? That's impossible. Here you are, you've built a life for yourself. It's just _dandy_. But you just don't get it, and you never will. I'll _never _get home."

Neither of them said anything for a long time. She fought to get her breath back. There were stars across her eyes as her body threatened hyperventilation—but Amanda stayed on her feet.

Finally, Chell started humming along to the fiddle music. When the song ended, he spoke again. "It's strange how when we were in the Delta Quadrant, I missed being around people. I really did. Crowds and crowds of people. Then, now that I'm back in this joke of a ship—I love my job—but sometimes I wish they'd all just go away."

Amanda sighed again. "Yeah."

"I don't think I'll ever get home either," Chell said thoughtfully. "You know. That was taken care of by the Cardassians, same as you."

She felt her face flush. She hadn't thought…

"Even so," he continued. "Bolians have this saying, 'The grass keeps growing.' You can't get back anything that's passed, because the universe never stops changing. So if I still had that house… And what a house that was! You should have seen the viranda. It wouldn't be home. My son would still be dead."

She'd never once thought.

He looked at her, and for the first time ever, she saw who he was. "Every day of my life I miss him," he said calmly. "I know how you feel."

Amanda sat down on the pillows; she suddenly felt exhausted. "Chell, I'm making a mess of my life. Nothing's working. I can't do anything. I… I even drove away this guy I really loved, because I couldn't… I'm out of my mind, and I can't fix it."

"Really? You got a, what do humans call it. A shrink?"

"Not one I go to."

"Huh. Well, I'm no good in a crisis, you know that. I'm not far from the crazy bin myself some days! Nobody is, right?"

"I guess." She wiped away the tears that had spilled out. "I don't know what to do."

"I figure this is the longest conversation we've ever had in our lives, Amanda. That's a good place to start. Talking to people."

"Yeah, I guess I could have talked to you a long time ago. Sorry about that," she said sheepishly.

He shrugged. "No hard feelings. And let me own up, too. I owe you a much bigger apology."

"You do?"

"I'm sorry I didn't try to help you during all those years we were stationed in the same place."

She gritted her teeth. "You mean, tell on me?"

He was unfazed. "I thought it would have been telling on you, but I was wrong. I should have told our Maquis friends what you were going through. I'm sorry, Amanda."

She was about to rebuff his apology when she stopped herself. She realized that he was right. He should have told someone. "Why didn't you?" she asked quietly.

"I was scared."

"Of me?"

"No. I was scared of life on that ship. I didn't know what to do except stand back. You seemed so brave."

"I wasn't," she pointed out. "I was just… numb. Lonely."

He nodded. "I get that now." They stopped talking for a moment. "Do you remember when you saved my life on Gelvis Prime, the one where we raided the Cardassian supply depot?" Chell asked.

Amanda blinked. "I'd totally forgotten."

"I hadn't," he said. "That was the first time you were part of a team that took fire. After, everybody was talking about it."

Amanda did remember, now. There was an unscheduled patrol who met them in a courtyard; Chell got cut off on the far side, where he was setting a timed explosive. Someone had to take point on the defensive line or Chell would have been killed where he crouched. Amanda, who was then seventeen, hadn't waited for Ayala to say anything. She'd aimed her rifle, shot twice, shot again until all but one of the guards went down, and sprinted past the remaining cover fire to where Chell was and guarded him until he finished the job.

"I owe you, Amanda. I let you down," Chell said.

Amanda met his eyes. "Forgiven."

He smiled. "That's good. I built a shrine to my son's memory when we got back. It's at my new home, a cute little house outside Santa Barbara… As I was meditating there one day, I thought that this was something I should do for my journey. I guess the gods agreed, because here you are!"

"Journey?"

"Oh, you know." He smiled then, his old self. "Bolian religious stuff, don't worry about it."

Amanda thought of Aaron then, and she felt a pang of longing for him. Maybe that would fade in time.

"Thank you, Chell," she said, forcing a smile.

His blue lips parted in a generous smile. "You're always welcome to tip the chef. Now, wasn't there a com number you were after?"

* * *

It took her one week to work up the nerve and one hour to realize that if she didn't call B'Elanna soon and secure some kind of prospects, she would be completely out of money and the first person in over 150 years to be homeless in San Francisco. Even so, Amanda sent a text message first. 

The next day, Amanda spent a few more precious credits to transport to Havanna, where B'Elanna had a teaching and research position at one of the universities in the city. The late spring was humid to the point of stifling, and the breeze from the ocean didn't help much, so by the time she had tracked down B'Elanna's office, her hair was frizzier than she'd ever seen it and her face was shining with sweat.

She was a few minutes early, but the department secretary let her wait in B'Elanna's office. It was a large room with tall windows looking out over the coast, books and computers lining another wall, and a crib tucked into a nearby corner. Apparently Miral wasn't a stranger to her mother's workplace.

Amanda scanned the old built-in shelves on the far wall. Unlike Aaron, B'Elanna seemed to prefer padds to paper and binding; there were boxes and boxes of data crystals and other storage. Amanda was mildly alarmed to see a miniature nuclear reactor on one of the lower shelves, and wondered what on earth B'Elanna did in this office all day. Despite herself, she checked the safety settings, just to make sure the casing would hold.

There were also family pictures, and a lot of them. Not a whole lot of Klingons—big surprise. Most of the frames held shots of what Amanda guess were grinning grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. One picture showed an older, balding man in an admiral's uniform with baby Miral in his arms. Amanda didn't know much about the Paris family, but guessed that B'Elanna didn't share Tom's reluctance about talking to his father.

She wondered for a moment what her father would look like if he were alive today.

"Amanda," said B'Elanna's voice behind her. "Welcome to Havana."

Amanda jumped a bit as B'Elanna charged into the room. "Hi, Lieutenant. Hello. Thanks for seeing me."

B'Elanna smiled, which wasn't something Amanda had seen often. "I'm not 'Lieutenant' anymore, Jackson. Just use my name."

Amanda blushed. "Okay."

"It's good to see you. Now what brings you to Cuba?"

"I… I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor."

B'Elanna didn't look surprised. Amanda felt that this was confirmation of her suspicions: word _had _gotten around about her latest adventures. The anger at being shunted into the same old role of subordinate youngster, the subject of pity, made Amanda sit up straighter. She'd just ask and get out, and get back to her life. Whatever that was.

"I'm applying for engineering degree programs, and I… well, my education's not very standard, but I've passed a lot of the equivalency exams. I want to get a real degree, though. Could I ask you… Would you be willing to write a letter of recommendation for me?" Amanda forced herself to keep looking B'Elanna in the eye, but she couldn't stop her face from flushing in embarrassment.

"Of course."

Amanda blinked, surprised at how easy that was. "Oh."

"Where are you applying?"

Amanda listed them for her, stammering a bit from nerves. "I won't be able to get started in the fall—it's way past the deadline. But I can apply early to all those schools, which will help my chances, I think."

"Have you thought about Johns Hopkins? They run a great program, and they have a reputation for taking on students with nontraditional backgrounds."

"I didn't know that."

"You could easily cut it there. And don't leave out the University of Moscow. The winters are bad, but they've been leading the field for decades now."

"They're top-notch! You think I could get in?"

"Why not? You're brilliant."

Amanda couldn't have been more astonished. "Okay."

"Is something wrong?"

"No! No, I just… I didn't even know if you'd write the letters for me. This is really great."

B'Elanna smiled again. "I did watch you pretty closely. Maybe it's a good thing you were with me in engineering for a few months after all."

Amanda looked at her hands, ashamed.

"I'm glad to hear that you're taking this step," B'Elanna said. "I think it's a good one for you."

"Thank you."

"What are you going to do until you start school? Do you have work?"

"Some," Amanda admitted. "I've been doing some part-time tutoring, and I have some hours at the civilian port south of Palo Alto."

"That must be boring."

"I don't mind." _Not so much boring as slave labor_, she thought.

"And how are _you_?"

Amanda forced a smile. "Fine."

B'Elanna waited.

"What?" Amanda said.

"I was hoping for a real answer."

Amanda felt like this was all the confirmation she needed. It was B'Elanna who had screwed her over on her Academy applications; it had to be. Amanda picked up her bag and started to stand up. "Thanks for your time. I'll be going now."

"Wait, Amanda—"

"You just said you're not my lieutenant. So unless you want to go behind my back and tell all of these schools how _unstable _I am, then get out of my business. Forget about the apps."

"Amanda, what are you talking about?"

"What, you don't know?"

"Know what?" B'Elanna didn't seem phased by the outburst, just baffled.

"You mean… It wasn't you—You didn't fail me on my psych evaluation?"

B'Elanna blinked. "You applied to the Academy? I didn't know."

Amanda took a deep breath. She'd been so close to getting B'Elanna's help, now she had to ruin it with an unnecessary outburst. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I… I guess I was wrong about that. I'll go."

"Wait a minute," B'Elanna said, exasperated. "I want to know what's going on. Did you apply to the Academy?"

"You didn't know?"

"No, because you didn't ask me for recommendations until today. Did somebody fail you on your psych eval?"

"Yeah," she admitted, feeling herself flushing. "They said it was someone from _Voyager_. I thought it had to be you, after everything…"

"Hardly," B'Elanna said. She got up, went to the mini-replicator by the door. "Raktajino, iced. Do you want anything?"

"No."

B'Elanna returned, beverage in hand. "Let me tell you something about the 'psychological evaluation,' Amanda. It's very hard to pass. It's also not very accurate, at least not the way I see it. They're looking for a specific kind of personality, the type that _they _think is most likely to 'withstand the rigors of long-term space travel.' If I took it today, I'd never pass—and that's, what? Ten, eleven years after I passed it the first time as an angry teenager? They let me by because they wanted another Klingon in Starfleet then."

"Really?" Amanda said.

"I'm sure they wouldn't admit it," B'Elanna said matter-of-factly, "but I can't think of any other reason why they would have passed me. Tom says he only got through because his father's an admiral. There are cracks in the system. Not to mention how wrong the test can be. If you're talking about the ability to withstand the rigors of space travel, we're the people who should pass with flying colors, not the up-and-coming Harry Kims of the universe."

Amanda wasn't sure what to say.

"It's possible that whoever failed you was working from my notes on your record," B'Elanna said. "If that's true, I'm sorry it happened. I kept records for Admiral Janeway, not for Starfleet command, but I doubt they were viewed with that in mind."

"How bad was my record?"

"Did you ever read mine? Yours doesn't even come close to being that bad," B'Elanna said. "Listen, I'm sure you're angry. I don't blame you. I don't know who did it, maybe the Doctor or someone who was worried about regulations. But forget it, if you can. You might find a life outside of Starfleet is better for you anyway."

Amanda was getting tired of hearing that. "You don't say."

Her former officer nodded. "We needed that kind of order and regulation just to stay alive on _Voyager_. I didn't continue in Starfleet because I don't want to spend the rest of my life living with all those restrictions." Amanda also caught B'Elanna glancing inadvertently at the framed picture on the corner of her desk of her daughter, Miral.

"Sorry for, you know. Getting angry like that."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "If every person I'd ever yelled at had stopped helping me, how do you think I'd have made it this far? I don't have an agenda, Amanda. I just want to know that you're doing better now that we're away from that ship."

"I'm doing okay."

B'Elanna paused as if waiting for more.

"No, I'm fine. Really," Amanda said. "I… I had a rough spot a couple months ago, but… I'm out of it."

"You are?"

Amanda sighed. "I'm fine. That's all."

"You look different now," B'Elanna observed. "I guess we all do."

"Yeah." Different? Amanda supposed she did look different. She felt about ten years older.

B'Elanna seemed to reach a decision. "Listen, if you're feeling up to it, there's a temporary entry-level research position opening up here in a few weeks. The pay isn't great and you'd have to transport from a few time zones away each day, but I think you'd be a good fit. It would help with your applications, and you'd be up to speed on current research and techniques."

Amanda couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you… I'm sorry. Are you offering me a job?"

B'Elanna nodded again, as if there was nothing unusual about this. "When you contacted me, I thought you were going to ask me about a job, not the applications. Not that I mind. But I've already mentioned your name to the department head. Howard's a very progressive administrator, he likes to have a few people around who got their training outside academia. I think you'll like him. That's if you want the job," B'Elanna added, frowning.

Amanda jumped. "No! I mean, yes! Of course I want the job!"

"Excellent. You'll have to interview with Howard, but I'm sure you'll be fine. Ask him about his phaser collection. He'll talk for hours about loading mechanisms."

"Okay…"

"Is there something wrong?" B'Elanna asked.

"No! But, well, I was just wondering," Amanda said.

"Yes?"

"Why? I mean, I know I can do the job. Whatever it is. But why are you helping me? I thought you were about to kick me out of your office."

B'Elanna smiled and looked over at the crib in the corner thoughtfully. "For one thing, because you know you can do it and so do I. For another… Jackson," she said, "where do you think I would be if Chakotay hadn't stuck his neck out for me eight years ago?"

"I don't know."

"And where do you think Tom would be if Admiral Janeway hadn't given him a few breaks?"

"Oh."

"Right. It's too bad you had to wait this long for someone to reach out to you, but at least I have the privilege of doing that now."

Amanda felt herself blushing. She'd never once thought that B'Elanna cared so much. "Lieutenant? I mean, B'Elanna? Can I ask you something else?"

"Shoot."

"On _Voyager_, when you had your… when you were depressed, and Chakotay helped you out… How did you go back to facing everybody again?"

B'Elanna didn't answer for a minute. "I don't know how, Amanda. I honestly don't." Then, she added, "I do know that once I got back, the people who cared about me were glad I'd come through it."

Amanda laughed shakily. B'Elanna cocked her head, curious. "Sorry," Amanda said. "It's just that things might have been easier if you'd said they wouldn't talk to me. I mean, you. Then I wouldn't have to bother taking the next step. There's this guy…" She shrugged and B'Elanna nodded; it was an exchange that spoke volumes to anyone who'd ever been in love. She stood up, getting ready to leave. "Thank you, B'Elanna. For everything."

B'Elanna also stood. "Of course. And will I see you at the _Voyager _reunion in July?"

"The what?" Amanda was almost offended, then realized that she hadn't given her contact information to anyone until today. Of course she wouldn't know about it.

"Admiral Paris is hosting a reunion in Marin County," B'Elanna said. "Private, no press. We only started planning it a few weeks ago, but already half the crew has said they'll come."

"I'm not so sure…"

"Why not? I know a lot of people would love to see you."

Amanda didn't believe that. For crying out loud, at least one person from _Voyager _had told Starfleet she was certifiable. Who knew what the rest of them _really _thought. "Well, maybe," she said. "I want to get some things settled."

"Like what? I'm sure it's nothing you can't work around."

Amanda looked out the large window, over the bay. "There's some repair work I have to do first."


	5. Chapter 5

Finite Space

by Liz

chapter 5

_in which our heroine bites the bullet, our hero opens up, __and redemption is much more fun

* * *

_

It was early May, and the Bajoran Institute for Religious Studies in Berkley graduation ceremony took place on a Saturday morning. The last time Amanda had talked to Aaron about his plans had been before he had ended their affair, and at least in February, he hadn't had any idea what he would do after graduating besides move back to Bajor. Whatever he had decided in the meantime, Amanda knew she wouldn't get another chance to talk to him. Today was it.

She arrived close to the start of the ceremony and did her best to hide in the back, where no one would take notice. An audience in the hundreds, full of families and prestigious professors and vediks, crowded the rows of benches in the brightly lit hall, where colorful flags draped from the walls and windows which had been left open for the lovely spring air. She'd missed most of the processional; in the very front of the audience sat three rows of graduating seminarians, all of them dressed in the bright saffron robes of their calling.

From behind, Amanda couldn't tell which one was Aaron. Nor could she pick his voice out from the soft, calming chants that accented the hour-long service. She waited through the keynote addresses—one by the local high vedik (sort of like Earth's bishop), and another from a holographic recording by the Kai. The audience listened, rapt.

The words were gentle and erudite and sophisticated and kind, and not exclusive or angry. Still, Amanda felt deeply unnerved. She and Aaron had been together for months, and she'd never really grasped that this was the thing to which he had dedicated his life. It was really beautiful.

When they began calling the names of the graduates, she was shaken again. Aaron was close to the end, according to the Bajoran alphabet, and when he finally approached the dias and knelt to receive the high vedik's blessing and the small metallic charm which served as a diploma, a few female voices in the back of the hall, on the other side from where Amanda sat, burst into cheers.

The rest of the audience chuckled. There had been polite applause throughout the service, but this was the first all-out eruption from any of the spectators. Aaron himself glanced over his shoulder with a look that Amanda recognized as chagrin. The high vedik laughed and clapped Aaron on the shoulder, whispering something in his ear.

As Aaron turned to descend from the dias, his eyes glanced right at the section where Amanda was seated. She ducked her head and shifted so that she was obscured behind a taller woman.

Feeling foolish, she looked back up. Aaron was moving into his row again, but he was frowning now. He looked back over his shoulder at her once more before sitting.

Well. At least she couldn't run away now.

* * *

After commencement, the campus grounds were packed with families and friends celebrating. Cameras flashed, children whined about the hot sun, and cocktail napkins floated away on the breeze. It was just like the scene after any other graduation ceremony, but Amanda thought she observed something else. There was an darker intensity to the hugs and the cheers, as parents and grandparents who had been refugees or prisoners proudly flashed their earrings and straightened the new ceremonial robes of their graduate. No one mentioned it, but the sacrifices and pain of the older generations were being validated with each graduate to cross the stage.

A young woman stood not far away with her father, who adjusted his daughter's hood for the camera. "Here," he said, "let's stand in the sun so we can see you." When they turned and smiled, Amanda saw a vicious swath of scar tissue on one side of his face. He wasn't the only one.

Amanda felt like an intruder as she squeezed through the crowds, keeping an eye out for Aaron. Several other people were winding through the crowds, too, making the public square into one gigantic lost-and-found. At this rate, Aaron and his cheering section would be long gone before she ever found him.

A large buffet table with hors d'oeuvres and punch stood under the trees in the middle of the square. Amanda decided to get something to drink and wait there. Never one to resist free food, Aaron would be by at some point. Nervously, she helped herself to a cup of punch—noting with irony the sign by the galdatar saying, "Bajorans only, please"—and tucked herself into the shade of a tree, out of the way. She waved to a few of Aaron's classmates whom she had met; they recognized her and were friendly, although they looked at her a little curiously.

"Ellia," croacked an older man to her left, waving his hand across the plaza. He sounded like he had poorly repaired vocal cords, maybe some computerized system to help him speak. "Ellia!"

"There you are, Daddy!" said a young woman, who shoved past an especially large herd of people to where the man stood, beckoning her. "Come on," she told him, taking his hand. "Taren was just saying good-bye to some friends. We're all over here."

Amanda watched them make their way back through the masses. It was odd; not so long ago, she would have felt nothing but envy watching all of these people together. Now, she just felt a little wistful. Maybe someday she'd have a whole family waiting for her before they snapped pictures together in the sunshine. It would be nice.

"Amanda."

She jumped, spilling her punch on the ground. It was Aaron, standing behind her in his saffron robes. He looked almost magisterial. "Hi," she said nervously, wiping her hands on her skirt.

He glanced at her cup on the ground. "Sorry to startle you."

"Don't worry. It—Hi. It's good to see you."

"I didn't expect to see you here." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Amanda took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough so she could talk to him without choking. "I'm sorry to surprise you like this. I tried to contact you at home, but no one ever answered."

"I've been busy."

She nodded, even though she was sure he was lying. "So, you graduated."

"That would be one reason why I look like a chicken."

"No, it's just—you'd said before you were worried, and…" _Keep breathing._ "Anyway, you look really nice in your robes," she told him. "They suit you."

He scoffed, pulling the hood down so that it sagged behind his head. "They itch."

"Well, they look nice anyway." She bit her lip, but plunged ahead. "It really is good to see you again—but that's not what I came here to say."

He just kept looking at her.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not proud of what I said or did the last time you saw me. I can't really get it out of my head… So, I just wanted to apologize for everything. I was wrong."

Aaron didn't seem happy to hear all this. Her heart sank. "So you came here to tell me that?" he said

She nodded.

"Part of the recovery program?" he asked.

That stung, but she forced herself to keep looking at him. "No, it isn't. I came because I mean it."

"Okay," he acquiesced.

"I'm really sorry to surprise you like this. But I didn't know if you would be leaving after today. And I had to… well, I had to say something." She waited. "Do you want me to leave?"

There was a stretch of time as she waited for his verdict. Finally, he sighed. "No, don't go. You would come today, wouldn't you? I've just been ordained a vedik. I think I have to forgive you—they might defrock me or something if I don't."

She remembered Aaron talking about forgiveness, months ago. He was right—it did offer some freedom. "I'm glad," she said quietly.

"And I should apologize, too," he said. "I said some harsh stuff."

"It's okay. I kind of deserved it."

"No, you didn't!" he protested. "Good grief. If you're working on self esteem, you have a ways to go, Amanda. Listen, I had bad timing. I was angry, but I went overboard. And maybe I bailed on you when I shouldn't have." He around at the crowds. "I was thinking about you the other day. Things seem really quiet without you."

"I'll bet they do."

"I'm glad you're doing better."

"You know me," Amanda joked. "Always pulling myself up by the bootstraps." She tried to smile, but a tear slipped out of her eye, despite herself. Oh, and she had sworn to herself that she wouldn't do this!

"Here," Aaron said, pulling a handkerchief from his robes. "Take this."

"No, you don't—"

"Amanda, just take the damn thing."

She did, embarrassed. "Thank you."

Aaron seemed to be fighting something in himself. "Oh, hell," he said. "This doesn't change anything, but yes. I forgive you. Come here, Amanda." He opened his arms to embrace her.

She went to him shyly, afraid she wouldn't be able to let go. This was the last time she would see him; it had to be.

He smelled good. The incense from the ceremony clung to his skin and robes, and she could tell he'd shaved just before commencement. The smooth fabric of his robes was strange, but it also seemed appropriate, somehow. He wasn't the same person, either, not any more than she was. She closed her eyes to enjoy this moment of reacquaintance with him, however brief.

"Shit," she heard him say, his voice buzzing against her cheek. "Amanda, run."

She pulled back, surprised. "Huh?"

He was watching something approach over her shoulder, his gray eyes catching the bright sunlight. "It's my mother. Run."

"Aaron!" cried an older woman's voice from behind Amanda. She turned to see a shorter, fairer version of Aaron approaching, her arms outstretched and her mouth wide and smiling. She bridged the gap between herself and her son with alarming speed for a woman of late-middle years. "Oh, my beautiful, beautiful son, never have I been so proud in all my life! Let me give my beautiful, only son a wonderful hug!"

Amanda scooted out of the way just in time for Aaron's mother, who barely reached Amanda's shoulder, to envelope her much taller son in her arms. "I can finally die today, because my only son has done wonderful things!" she proclaimed.

"Hello, Mother." Aaron looked at Amanda pointedly, as if to say, _there's still time for escape_.

A young Bajoran woman caught up to them; she looked a little out of breath from having chased Mrs. Jarro across the plaza. "There you are!" she said, leaning over Aaron's mother to give him a peck on the cheek. "Congrats, you big stud."

Amanda felt like she'd been slapped in the face. He had a new girlfriend. And why shouldn't he? They weren't together anymore. He'd made that clear. And a young, handsome Bajoran vedik was such a prize for any Bajoran woman who might be looking. This newcomer ("this bitch," Amanda thought) was about Amanda's height, with dark, wavy hair tumbling down her back. She looked back at Amanda frankly with gray eyes.

"Who's this?" the young woman asked. She had a low, confident voice. Aaron's mother suddenly broke off both the hug and her rambling monologue to stare at Amanda in surprise.

Aaron rolled his eyes to the heavens and mouthed a short prayer. "Mother and Mari, this is my friend Amanda Jackson."

Amanda noticed the girl's—Mari's—brows raise in surprise. She didn't have time to respond, though, because Aaron's mother was gasping in surprise. "Oh, a young lady! Aaron!"

Amanda shook her head desperately. "I'm not—I didn't mean to intrude, I mean—"

"You're not intruding! My son never told me he had a girlfriend. Oh, my dear, and you're so pretty!"

Mari was studying Aaron with curiosity as she slipped an arm around his waist. He looked like a ship tossed about by three monstrous, female waves. Helplessly, he shook his head. "Mother, she isn't—"

"And how long have you known my son?" Mrs. Jarro asked. Amanda blinked, not sure how to respond.

Aaron saved her. "Mother, please be polite to my _friend_. Amanda, may I present my mother, Jarro Tuli, and my sister, Jarro Mari?"

"Your sister!" Amanda exclaimed, before she could stop herself. Well, of course. They even looked a little bit alike, with the same dark coloring that must have been their father's. Quickly, she tried to cover. "It's very nice to meet you."

"What, didn't Aaron mention me?" Mari said, not letting anything slip past.

"Mari, back off," Aaron told her.

"He mentioned you," Mari said pointedly. "At least he did to me."

Mrs. Jarro suddenly looked like she was about to have a stroke. "What!" she demanded. "You told your sister about your beautiful girlfriend, but you didn't tell your own mother! You don't trust your own mother to tell her about your love life. Oh, and here I was so proud of you, and now this?"

"Mother," he said through gritted teeth. "Please. I am not going to listen to your theatrics today. Now why don't we all thank Amanda for coming, and then we can go to dinner?"

"What, did you two have a fight or something?" Mari said. Amanda had a brief memory of her brother Nathan, and how one time he'd caught her talking on the com link to a boy from school, late at night. He'd taken great pleasure in blackmailing her for the next week.

Their mother ignored this. "Don't change the subject, and don't try to keep me away from this nice young lady." She marched up to Amanda and grabbed her by the arms. "My son has never trusted me, but I only want the best for him."

Amanda shot a desperate look at Aaron, who didn't seem thrilled, either.

"Mom, maybe you should back off," Mari suggested, finally coming to her brother's defense.

"You be quiet," Mrs. Jarro said without looking. "Darling, come have dinner with us. I insist."

* * *

Amanda found herself swept up in the flood of talking that was Jarro Tuli and carried off to dinner with no chance to protest. Mari and her mother were staying in a full suite on Telegraph Avenue, not far from campus, so they walked there in five minutes, during which Aaron and Mari successfully prevented Tuli from grilling Amanda only by the use of constant bickering.

"Now where did you meet my son?" Tuli would ask her as they wove through the crowds.

"Mother! Please stop!" Aaron called from behind.

"Won't help," Mari told him dryly.

"Whose side are you on?"

"Come on, the last time I brought someone home, all you did was offer him a beer and update us on the Federation Cup scores."

"Of course, I'm a guy. That's what we do."

"No, it isn't! You're supposed to behave like a gentleman."

"What, and challenge him to a duel?"

And so on. Amanda decided as they reached the front doors of the hotel that Mari and Aaron had at some time in their family history come to the understanding that the only force more powerful than their mother was the two of them in active combat.

The suite was a generous size—Amanda wondered how much money Aaron's family had to afford it—and Tuli and Mari had dinner waiting, ready to be heated up upon their arrival.

"It smells very nice," she said timidly. "I guess your whole family must cook—not much replicating."

Tuli basked in the compliment. "Absolutely. Cooking is a wonderful art, I always say. It's a sign of civilization! And, when life is too difficult to talk about…"

"Eat until you pass out," both her children said in unison. They all laughed, even Aaron.

"That's if you have enough food to go around," Mari pointed out. "When Aaron and I were kids, after Dad died—"

"Hush, we're talking about happy things today," Tuli said. "Aaron, you're looking skinny. Are you getting enough to eat?"

"Mother, it's the end of term. I've been busy."

"Well, thank the Prophets that's over, or else in another few weeks I wouldn't have a son left!" She took Amanda by the arm and led her into the suite's smallish kitchen. "Come on, darling. Help me pour the drinks, and we'll gossip."

Amanda looked at Aaron, desperately hoping he wouldn't hate her for having landed on his family celebration like this. For his part, he seemed equally chagrined, unable to prevent his mother from commandeering her.

Once out of earshot from her son, Tuli settled down marginally. "Now," she said, businesslike. "We need four glasses and a bottle of wine. We'll use the human stuff Aaron bought for us, since you're here."

"You don't have to do anything special on my—"

"Of course we do. You're a guest, and Bajorans know how to treat a guest. I think it's all those years of homelessness: we want to repay all the people who let us crash _their _parties!" She laughed, an irreverent snicker of delight. "Here, darling, open the bottle for me, these old hands have lost their grip."

Amanda took the bottle obediently, but she thought she should say something before Tuli got too far along. "Mrs. Jarro, I…"

"Tuli, please. Call me Tuli."

"I just didn't want you to think that Aaron and I are—well, we're not serious. I didn't want to mislead you."

"Posh," Tuli said. "I saw the way he held you when I walked up. That's not just some girl he took to dinner last week, I told myself. For a boy who's always had trouble holding on, he sure was keeping a pretty tight grip on you!"

"Trouble holding on?"

Tuli nodded. "The going gets rough, he gets angry, he shuts out the world. He picks up and leaves, he won't talk to anybody. Especially his mother, but of course that's true. Nobody really talks to their mother. But Aaron? He shuts off like a spigot!"

Amanda blinked. "I didn't realize that," she said.

"Oh, he's grown a lot—it was being a teenager, trying to help us build our lives when we made it to Bajor—what a beautiful day that was! But it was hard for him, trying to settle into a life with so many strange people, when he'd only known the world of our little refugee town on a moon where the universe would leave us in peace. He has held onto his silence, his privacy, I tell you. When we would fight—oh, you know mothers and sons—he never shouted, he simply left the house and scared me to death, every time."

"Wow."

Tuli sighed. "Oh, I suppose I'm exaggerating. But only a little. Aaron had a lot of pressure, the son of a hero and all that. He was a leader whether he wanted to be one or not, and when things were difficult, where could he turn? I'm his mother, but I was rebuilding. I was a mother to our people, not just to him."

This sudden confessional was overcoming Mrs. Jarro. Amanda froze, not sure what to do. And not sure how much to believe.

Tuli regained her composure, mostly. "Well. That's neither here nor there. The entire world made sacrifices, not just us." She looked up at Amanda then. "But listen to me, darling. That boy is very special to me. I want a woman who will take care of his heart. If he shuts you out but then comes back, never let go of him. It means he really loves you, and he'll always come back. Honor that."

Amanda didn't have time to respond. Aaron stepped into the kitchen. His robes hung open, revealing a ratty pair of shorts underneath. Amanda was briefly scandalized by the thought of what the other graduates had been wearing under _their _robes. "Mother," Aaron said warily, "do you need help?"

"We are completely finished, darling," Tuli announced calmly and marched out, two drinks in each hand. Not knowing what else to do, Amanda grabbed the bottle.

"Hey," Aaron said, grabbing her elbow before she could escape. "I'm sorry my mother cornered you like that."

She blushed. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let her bring me here. This is your family's time."

He scuffed a shoe against the doorway. "I guess we should go ahead and stop apologizing to each other."

"You first." She looked at the bottle in her hand. How ridiculous that she should be here. "Listen, I can go before dinner starts. I don't want your mother to have the wrong idea."

"Too late," he grimaced. He took the bottle from her hand. "But… I don't know, Amanda. You can stay, if you want."

"Is that okay with you?"

He rolled his eyes. "We were never this courteous when we were together. Not once. Come on, get in there. We'll talk more later."

"Really?" she said.

"Yeah. Come on."

* * *

After dinner, Aaron did his best to extricate Amanda from the grip of his family. It wasn't easy, and besides, Amanda was beginning to enjoy herself. Mari was an exobiologist, and she had incredible stories to tell about her travels from planet to planet—and the storyteller's knack that Amanda herself didn't possess. Aaron's mother, on the other hand, had been a city administrator during the crucial period of rebuilding after the Cardassian occupation, and then when money finally became available to reimburse the families of Bajoran resistance heroes, she had, to her surprise, become a rich woman.

"Since then, I've made a career of it," she said, expansively brushing her hair back from her face. "You should see what I can do to an unguarded shoe store."

Mari rolled her eyes. "Mom…"

"What?" she demanded. "My children want to dress me in black and have me mourn until I'm so old I don't remember my own name. Posh! Everybody knows I'd give it all up to have your father back, but what's the use in being so serious about it? Won't reincarnate the man."

Aaron had given up trying to temper his mother and sister since the salad dish, and had spent most of the meal laughing along with them. Amanda felt guilty for being there, knowing that he didn't want her around, whatever he'd said, so she tried avoiding his eyes. It didn't work very well. She caught him looking at her more than once.

He'd saved her from the worst of the questioning. His sister apparently knew something about her already—he had probably mentioned her to Mari when they were still together. His mother was fascinated, but he and Mari deflected most of the questions until Tuli got the point.

"Fine, I'll wait till the book comes out," she said. "But I expect you to give me the personalized version someday, Miss Amanda."

They were a small family, but Amanda could tell they were very close. Beyond all the joking and bickering, there was the feeling that the three of them were clinging to one another on a raft that was adrift in a very wide ocean—no matter how large Tuli's wealth. At one time, they had had nothing in the universe but each other. Something of that remained.

As the afternoon wore on into evening, Aaron finally decided it was time for him and Amanda to leave. He waited patiently for his mother and sisters to make their farewells.

"You make sure I see this one again, Aaron," his mother said. "I like her spunk."

Amanda hadn't felt very spunky that day, but she supposed this was something his mother said to him about all the girls.

Aaron finally extracted her from his mother and sister's suite, and walked with her silently down the stairs to the street. He held the door for her; they still didn't talk.

He waited until they were close to the metro stop. "Are you still living in the same place?"

"You mean my apartment?" she said. "Yeah. Actually, it's turned into boxes again. I got a new job, so I'm moving out soon."

"Yeah? Ricky must be heartbroken. Where's the new place?"

"There's a cheap sublet I found on Craig's List."

"Amazing how that thing still runs this city after all this time. Where's the sublet?"

"The Haight-Ashbury. Close to a transporter hub _and _the metro, and there's a new express service that goes to Marin from Haight and Filmore up to Marin County. I like to walk around Mount Tam if I get a day off," she said shyly.

He smiled, and she felt a sad burning inside her chest out of want for him. The dimple in his cheek was still there. "Been out to Stinson Beach?"

"Too many people. I go farther north if I can." He looked as thought he was going to follow her into the metro. "Is this your route, too?" she asked. "Or are you being chivalrous?"

"Chivalry? No way. There's a party in the Outer Mission." He smirked. "After today, I'm embarking on a life of exemplary piety. But that doesn't start until tomorrow."

"How do Bajoran seminary graduates celebrate?"

"Personally? After _that _dinner party, I plan to pour beer on my head and do a lot of grunting."

"Too much of the feminine touch?"

"Or maybe I can hunt down a wild animal and drink its blood straight from the carcass."

"Ritual sacrifice is underrated these days."

"Thanks for putting up with that," he said. "I should have put my foot down, but my mother… well, she gets her way a lot."

"Don't worry about it," Amanda said. "I wasn't 'putting up' with anything. I'm just glad… we could talk again. And, I like your family."

"You do?" He backed up, regretting the question. "I mean, I like them, too. But they're a lot to handle at once. Usually they take some warming up."

They fell silent for a while, until the train arrived in the tunnel. Aaron attracted some interesting looks in his ratty shorts and unfastened robe, particularly from the occasional Bajoran to board the train, but he seemed determined to follow through on his plan of debauchery and misbehavior.

"So. How are you?" he finally asked, just as they reached the east end of the tunnel.

She'd been dreading the question, even though the answer wasn't so bad. "Oh, fine, I suppose. I'm busy… I'm looking at graduate schools for the year after next. I think I might have a part-time research position out in Havana soon… Something to do," she finished lamely.

He rested a hand on her shoulder. "Good. And the rest of you?"

She shook her head. "No, don't. I know you're being kind, but… I have to keep something safe. Even from you. Especially with you."

"Right." He withdrew his hand.

"Aaron," she said, "if I start telling you everything, that will just… It will make it harder for me to say goodbye to you. It's only a train ride. Let's just go where we're going and leave it there. Okay?"

"I get it."

It was an awkward silence. "What about you?" she asked finally. "What are you doing now?"

"I told you. A life of uninterrupted piety and good behavior. I'll be a good example to my fellow Bajorans, wherever I go."

There was a derisive snort from the back of the train car, where an older Bajoran man was watching them. "Yeah, yeah," Aaron said, waving a hand dismissively at their spy. "Laugh all you want, pops. You're looking at a grade-A spiritual guide here."

The sound of the door to the next car opening and closing as the old man left in a huff was their answer. Aaron rolled his eyes. "Actually, I'm going to Cardassia Prime for three months to help rebuild an orphanage and a hospital. I leave in the fall."

She gaped. "You're going there? Haven't you heard what they're doing to aid workers?"

"Heard all of it. Kidnapping, sabotage, mugging, an occasional murder. But to the other 99 percent of the foreign aid workers, they'll serve you tea."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you asking me that because you're worried about me, or because it's Cardassia?"

"Both."

He shrugged. "This is why I've become a vedik, Amanda. It's not to give lectures or satisfy what some old coot in the back of the train thinks is proper. It's about rebuilding, reaching out. Doing the brave thing, even if it's dangerous. Now I have this degree and the robe to go with it, so I don't turn back."

"I didn't know you were considering this."

"I wasn't until we split."

"Oh."

"It was hard for me, too," he said. "It made me think. I miss you."

"Well, if my idiocy is enough to motivate you to save the lives of orphaned children, then I guess it was worth it."

"It wasn't idiocy," he corrected her softly. "It was just a tough, tough thing. And I'm glad you're on the other end."

Despite herself, she squeezed the hand that had touched her own. "I'm not always sure I am at the other end."

"Maybe not, but you look… different."

She didn't want to tell him. She knew it would be so much harder when they reached her stop if she opened up… But maybe, when she went up into the sunlight, she could pretend it was just something she'd dreamed up below the ground, and no one would know about it, not ever.

She told him about her conversation with Chakotay. She told him about going to the museum, and about talking to B'Elanna and the job she would be starting soon. She told him about everything. "So I'm trying," she finished. "Maybe I'll be okay after all."

She caught him smiling at her. "I think so."

The train slowed to a halt at Market and Powell. Amanda took a deep breath. "Thanks, Aaron. For everything. Good luck."

They looked out the windows at the crowds waiting on the platform for the train. The doors chimed, then opened. Amanda got up to leave, avoiding his eyes as he watched her rise.

Just when she started to walk away, he stood up, too. "Come on," he said, setting a determined arm around her shoulders.

"Huh?"

He walked her outside, forcing his way through the crowds to the nearest thick column, where he backed her against the concrete and kissed her long, long, and hard.

It was one hell of a kiss. Amanda grabbed his waist and held on. His lips were so wet, and he tasted like the wine they'd only just shared. She could feel him rising against her, too, hard against the soft flesh at her waist.

They were interrupted by the old man from the train, who swatted Aaron below the knees with his cane. Aaron jumped back with a surprised cry as the cane made contact with one of his shins. "Despicable," the old man snarled. "That's what we get for training vediks on Earth!" And he stormed off to the nearest lift. The people around them pretended, badly, not to notice.

Doubled over with laughter, Aaron could barely speak; he found the whole thing hilarious. Amanda was too surprised by the kiss to react. "Come on," Aaron said as he caught his breath. "Take me up to your place, and let's make up."

"What about your party?"

"There is no party. Let's go."

There was a moment, as Amanda stood by the column, with Aaron holding her hand and confidently, gently pulling her to him. She pictured him coming with her, and what it would be like to begin again. And the sex.

"If he shuts you out but then comes back, never let go of him," Tuli had said. "It means he really loves you, and he'll always come back. Honor that."

She could honor that. By letting him go.

* * *

Amanda walked up to her apartment alone, feeling the cool wind blowing hard against her—one of the downsides of living in the city proper rather than in the slightly warmer climate of the East Bay. It was so strong that it threatened to push her off balance—not that she needed any help.

It was the right choice. She loved Aaron, he was a good man, but she needed to make a new life on her own. She had to be the one to rebuild herself. Leaning on him? It wouldn't be right. Someday, perhaps, she would meet someone else, when she was ready. When she could stand on her own, it would be time, but not yet.

It was the right choice. She entered her building and went to the stairs, waving to Ricky, who was once again making repairs to the ancient and broken lift. "Hello!" he barked at her, loud enough for the first three floors to hear.

She winced. "Hi, Ricky," she said. Her voice was shaking, but she knew she was right. She _was _fine. It was the right choice.

Ricky yelled something utterly ungrammatical at her as she ascended to her apartment, inadvertently noting the black scrape on the wall from when she and Aaron had dropped the replicator, all those months ago. She'd repaint tomorrow, Ricky be damned. It was time to move on. A clanging and a thud sounded below, probably casualties of Ricky's handiwork.

Amanda entered her apartment and let the door slide close. She set down her bag, looked at all the half-filled boxes, and realized.

It was the wrong choice after all.

"Mees Jacka-son!" Ricky bellowed through her door suddenly.

Something in her snapped. "What!" she screamed back. "What the fuck is it, you stupid, moronic, imbecilic fucker?" She was beginning to cry, and this was not the time to deal with a socially inept, barely sentient repair man with a temper.

"Mees Jacka-son, open door!" A thud collided with the outside of her door.

"Get the fuck away, you son of a—" She opened the door to see Ricky holding a fistful of Aaron's hair. She knew it was Aaron's hair because it was still attached to his head. Aaron was bracing himself against the door jamb with one hand and holding his head with the other. Apparently this was Ricky's new style of knocking.

"Aaron!" she gasped.

"You want I turn him go?" Ricky shouted.

"What?" she said. "What? No! Go away, Ricky. Go away! You turn go. Now!"

Ricky paused. "Mees Jacka-son, you want…"

"Go away!" she yelled, pulling Aaron from his grasp and bringing him inside her apartment. She closed and locked the door and barricaded it with a packed box for good measure as Aaron collapsed onto the bed, muttering some very un-vedik-like things about Ricky's heritage.

"I am so, so, so sorry," Amanda said, running into the kitchen for ice, which she wrapped into the handkerchief he'd given her at commencement and gave to him to hold to his forehead, which was already sprouting a knot. "I am so sorry, Aaron, I don't know what's wrong with me, this is so terrible, it's like every time you come near me you get hurt and I don't want that to happen ever again, so please, listen, I don't want you to—"

"Amanda, shut up," he grumbled. "Don't worry about my head, I'll be fine."

"That's not what I'm apologizing for."

He looked up, realized what she meant. "Oh. I was going to call after you, but I was out of breath from running, and then Ricky got to me first…"

On second thought, she took the ice from him, which he eyed with some wariness. "What are you going to do with that?"

Amanda tossed it onto the floor and pushed Aaron back onto the bed and climbed on top of him like a cowgirl mounting up.

"Does this mean we get to make up?" he said.

"Are you kidding?" She began pulling the robe from his body and his shirt with it. "Shut up and fuck me. And don't you ever leave me again."

* * *

"You know how you told me once that Bajoran men have to treat their women right?" she said softly. It was about an hour later, and Aaron was lying beside her, content as a cat in the sunshine. "Or else we can take our revenge after you've come?"

One eye cracked warily.

"If you walk out that door today like this was nothing more than a fly-by, I'll nail your hide to the top of Coit Tower," she threatened.

The eye closed again. "Never."

"Never what? Come on, speak up."

"You were never a fly-by. Never could be." He turned onto his side to face her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Thermonuclear explosion, maybe. But nothing less."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"Meant that in a good way."

"Yeah."

"Amanda?"

"Yes?"

"I have never stopped loving you. Now let's get back to this after I have some semblance of a voluntary muscular system."

"How's your head?"

"I'm probably concussed. Make sure you wake me once every few hours and make love to me or else I might slip into a coma."

"I didn't know sex was part of the treatment for a concussion."

"Bajorans require tender care."

"I see." She hesitated. "Aaron?"

"Hmmm."

"We need to talk."

He opened one eye again.

"I really just said that, didn't I?" she said.

"Give it five minutes, Beautiful. Five… minutes…"

Well, that was all well and good for him, except Amanda was feeling like she'd been tossed into the anti-grav simulator back on _Voyager_. She had no footing.

She wanted Aaron here, beside her. She had realized on her walk up the hill alone that she wanted him here the rest of her life. To hell with whether it was healthy or not, or right or not—that's what she wanted.

Only what happened the next time there was a force field between them? Amanda had no intention of getting locked up in anybody's psych ward ever again, but she figured there was really no way that someone like her would ever live an entirely peaceful life. And, she may have recognized that she needed to change some things about how she looked at her life and the universe and herself, but that didn't change the thing about her that had scared him away. Seven years of isolation in a weapons chamber and a few years of active combat before that and the utter destruction of her home planet and all the loneliness of her life so far added up to something that had scared him off before.

And what Amanda had learned in the months since was that it wasn't necessarily something she wanted to get rid of.

She'd visited the edge of something so many times that she wasn't afraid to go there. What B'Elanna, Tom, Chakotay, Chell, and even those stupid doctors at the psych ward had wanted to point out to her was that she also needed to respect the edge so that she wouldn't carelessly walk over it into oblivion. But the people who knew her best—like it or not, her _Voyager _crewmates—knew that this quality also gave her a rare strength, one that most people wouldn't understand, much less share.

She needed Aaron to understand, though.

"So did I ever tell you how my father died?"

Aaron was awake. She felt him take that deep, reviving breath, the one that meant he was finally alert again. Not sure what to say, she just turned and looked at him.

"It was my fault," he told her. He told her the story then, as much as he could remember it, leaving nothing out. Amanda didn't ask any questions—she was too shocked. She only listened.

When he was done, she wrapped her arms around him. "It wasn't your fault," she whispered.

"Yeah, it was," he said simply. "My whole life, everyone has tried to tell me it wasn't, but any way you cut it, if I hadn't been playing with the horse Mitch gave me out in the open, if Mari and I had told our parents what the Cardassian said, if we had called out to them as we ran out of the house… He'd still be alive."

Amanda couldn't answer. He was right.

"It's not that I feel guilty," Aaron said. "I didn't mean to, I was a child, and I've made peace with that.

"But you can't deny that it happened because of me."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

He raised a hand to her hair and began running his fingers through it. "My whole life, I wondered if I would have had the courage to run back into the house, if it were me in my father's place. It's a little late now to question it, but I even wonder if that's why I became a vedik—so I could find out or maybe even prove to myself that I would have gone back.

"That day… at Starfleet… I left you because I was scared for you," he said. "But I also left because when you stared me down… I saw my father looking back at me.

"After I left," Aaron continued, "I did a lot of thinking. Well, first I got drunk, but then I started thinking. I finally get why you could do all the things you've done to save your ship or your friends, and why you put your hand on the force field. And I know why my father went back into the house. He loved us, sure, but more than that, it was because he believed that something in his life so terrible had happened that it was all right to give himself up for us."

She remembered her brother Nathan's snap decision to save her. She couldn't be like that. Could she? It was totally different. "But I didn't… I mean—"

"Let me finish, okay? I think I finally get it. What you've done in your life, it's not a choice. My dad didn't choose to die, and he didn't choose to save us. He went because he had to. You're a little more complicated, Amanda, but it's not so different. I guess you were trying to show that to me.

"My mother's furious that I'm going to Cardassia, and Mari wouldn't talk to me for a week after I told her… but it's just a force field. It won't really hurt.

"Are you okay?" he asked her gently. She could feel the tears rolling off her own face and onto his shoulder.

"I love you," Amanda whispered. "Don't leave me again."

* * *

In the morning, Amanda came to and was a little surprised to feel Aaron beside her. Unaccustomed to sharing a bed with someone after their months apart, she'd woken up several times during the night, disoriented by his presence. But this was different. Now he really was here.

She didn't think Aaron had budged once since the last time they'd made love. She prodded him gently in the side, just to check. The only response she got was the flutter of one side of his mouth, almost but not quite a smile. That was good enough.

After a few lazy minutes of counting cracks in the ceiling plaster, she roused herself enough to go to the kitchen. Happily, she recalled the actual food she had in the stasis bin, some things she'd picked up at the farmer's market near Civic Center last week. It had been an indulgent whim on her way back from seeing B'Elanna in Cuba—a reward to herself for going, and a celebration of a new opportunity. Since then, Amanda hadn't done much more than make a salad, but this would be a perfect chance to try her new egg-frying skills. And, she'd bought some fruit, too! Oranges, mangoes. A perfect reunion breakfast.

She busied herself with the eggs, carefully digging out the bits of shell that had made their way into the pan. She nudged aside the cooked whites so the raw part could seep through to the surface of the skillet, just like Aaron had showed her before. The finished eggs wound up in an unceremonious pile on the plate, but a little straightening out and they looked kind of good.

Amanda cheated and replicated some juice, but she made real tea, too, and she sliced the oranges and mangoes and laid them out on a plate around the eggs and a hunk of stale French bread. The eggs were a little cold by the time she'd finished, but hell, this was pretty damned good for a beginner.

She came back into the main room of the studio, food in hand, and saw Aaron lazily poking at a padd that had been lying on the floor. Sure enough, there was a faint but growing bruise in the middle of his forehead from Ricky's maneuver the day before. "Hey," she said.

"You're reading Gerina Tolla?" he asked her.

"Oh. Well, yes. The library had it available for download. I was just curious," she said.

"Curious enough to get to page 237 of a two-volume work?"

"I'm a quick reader," she evaded. "If you have enough coordination to eat without losing an eye, then breakfast is served."

"I'll find a way." He smiled beautifully, the perfect picture of a man content. "Should I be helping?"

"Let's say you're too tired, and I'll take it as a compliment to my lovemaking skills," she said, dumping some transparencies and crystals that B'Elanna had sent her the other week on the nearby shelves so there would be room for the feast.

Aaron gazed at her from across the room. "Making love to you is one of the greatest pleasures of my life."

She blushed. "Oh, come on. What about religious fervor?"

"I'm not joking." He smiled, the dimple in his cheek standing out in the morning light. "I love being a man. I love what I get to do with you."

Amanda crossed to the bed and sat next to him, resting a hand on his ass. "I'm glad it's enough to bring you back."

"Hell, no," he said vehemently. "I came over here because I love you."

"That's good," Amanda said.She planted a light kiss on the bump on his head and turned to go back to the kitchen, but Aaron caught one of her wrists and held her there. "Hey," she protested.

Ignoring her, he licked one of her hands. "Mango?" he guessed.

"Yes. There's more of that in the actual fruit, if you'll let me—"

He pulled her off balance so that she fell onto him. "I love the taste of mango and woman."

"Aaron, the food will get cold!"

"Warm it up later," he said, rolling them both onto their side.

It was an awkward affair for her, trying to keep her sticky hands from getting all over the sheets. "Typical man," she said. "I just cooked a whole meal, you know."

"And I'm starving." He kissed her and tried moving on top of her.

She felt his erection against her. "Whoa! Again!"

"Is that okay?"

"I should ask you! Can you do this?"

"You have to ask?"

"What are you, Mister Endurance now?"

"I haven't had sex in months. It's been building up."

"I'll say."

He moved his hips against hers. "You forced me to see how strong you are at the force field. Let me show you what I can do."

"Are you trying to ravish me?"

"Do you want me to stop?" He began kissing her neck and shoulders.

"No," she admitted, then shrieked as he licked the skin below her ear. Aaron rolled on top of her and was undoing her robe.

"Wow," she said. "Aaron. Mango. Hands. This could get messy."

"I don't care," he said. He grabbed her wrists and pulled them above her head to keep them out of the way. He moved his knee between her legs to spread them.

She shivered. "I have this martial arts move where I could throw you across the room. If I wanted," she told him.

"No, you couldn't," he said. "Not a chance."

Aaron slid inside her with only a few thrusts. She gasped, sore but ready enough. He moaned, a grating at the lowest part of his voice, a feeling like he was digging into the deepest well of the earth but it wasn't quite far enough. It was a completely undignified sound, and she loved it.

She made him do it again.

* * *

Some time later, with a kiss to her drowsy man, she went to the kitchen, warmed up the food again, and brought it back to the table. By the time the meal was set, Aaron had roused himself enough to come to the table and was pouring the tea.

"Blessings," he said with a toast and pulled out her chair for her, maneuvering it around the stacks of boxes.

Amanda took a sip and relished the sensation of the warm tea filling her belly. "I've decided something after reading that Gerina Tolla stuff," she said offhandedly.

"Hmm?" Aaron had his mouth full with eggs already.

"I think he's wrong."

A single dark eyebrow raised. "Really?"

"It's all just fine," she said, "forgiveness, compassion, renewal, blah, blah, blah."

Aaron blinked. "Those are kind of important," he said. "At least to me."

"Sure. But the idea that you only have so much space for your soul? That's bullshit."

He laughed, nearly choking. "Please continue debunking one of the major modern theologians of my world," he said.

"Sure," Amanda said. "For one thing, who the hell is he to say that anger and compassion can't exist in the same person? And," she added, looking down at her plate, "clearly he never fell in love with the right person."

He regarded her seriously. "How's that?"

"Because when I think of you, there is no finite space for my spirit," she told him, blushing. "There's only forever."

Aaron reached across the table and took her hand in his. "Forever," he agreed. "That's fine with me."


	6. Chapter 6

Finite Space

by Liz

chapter 6

_in which our heroine dresses up, our hero insults an admiral, and a crew of misfits parties long into the night_

_Apologies to anyone who thinks I'm too hard on a certain character here. I actually like her a lot; it's just that no family is perfect._

_This chapter goes out to Starburst, a woman with the guts to make her dreams really happen. Plus, you gave me that huge beta, early on. Props, lady.

* * *

_

"Do I look okay?" Amanda asked Aaron as they waited in the metro stop near their apartment for the express line to Marin, where they would catch a private shuttle to the Paris family property on the coast. "This dress isn't too nice, is it?"

"For the twentieth time, you look really great," Aaron told her without looking.

"'Really great?' You mean it's too nice. That's what you mean, don't you?"

"You look great."

"You're not looking at me."

"I said you look great." He craned his neck to see if the lights from the train had shown up yet in the tunnel.

"Aaron, did you pick up the phase converter from the Romulan baker with the yellow dog, like I told you?"

"Yeah. Sure." A pause. "Wait, what?"

"You're distracted. What's up?"

He shrugged. "I'm about to the meet the family. That's all."

"They're not my family," she reminded him, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. "It's just the _Voyager _people. They're, well…"

"Famous."

"Please. Maybe to you."

"Like family?"

"No. They're just… familiar."

"Gotcha. I'm distracted, you're borderline neurotic. We're a good pair. Besides, you do look great." He kissed her briefly on the lips.

"You're pretty handsome yourself," she pointed out. He did look good tonight; his clothes were freshly pressed for once. She knew it was silly, but she couldn't wait to show him off. "Is that a new shirt? You never go shopping."

"No, I go exchanging. My mother gave me some hideous green pants, so I got this instead." He glanced at her. "Don't tell her I said so."

"Cross my heart."

The sounds of an arriving train chugged and echoed through the tunnel. The few passengers waiting to go to Marin on a Saturday night rose from the benches and approached the yellow strip at the edge of the platform. Amanda held down the edges of the skirt on her light green summery dress against the rush of air from the approaching train; it was short enough to let the scar on her leg partly show, and she felt very much that she didn't need to show any more than that.

They boarded the train together and took their seats, Aaron grasping her hand on one side and fiddling nervously with something in his pocket on the other. "Are you sure you want to go?" Amanda said as the train started off. "I know it'll be a party full of people you don't know and it might be awkward and maybe boring, so we can get off at the next stop and go to that tapas place in the Mission instead."

"I'm sure," he said. "Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure!" she said. "You're the one who wouldn't let me cancel this week."

"Do you want to get off?"

"But I already told them we're coming!"

He shook his head as if to clear it. "Let's just go, okay? If you hate it, we'll leave."

Amanda took a deep breath. "Okay. Promise?"

"Promise."

They rode in silence for the next few stops. This line had been built only seventy-five years ago, and moved through the city faster than any other public transportation. Before long, they were in the Presidio, where dozens of Starfleet personnel in their uniforms boarded the train. Amanda ducked her head and busied herself pretending to unknot the fringe of her fancy shawl.

"Stop it," Aaron whispered, nudging her. "They'll think you're a spy."

"You stop it. I don't want anyone to see me."

"Who cares?"

"I do!"

"Amanda!" A familiar voice called from the other end of the train. "Amanda Jackson!"

She looked up to see Chell coming towards her, bouncing a little against the seats from the motion of the train.

"Amanda, I am _so _glad you've decided to come!" he cooed. "How have you been!"

"Uh, fine. Chell, this is my friend Aaron. Jarro Aaron."

"What a pleasure," Chell said. "Now tell me who I am, Mr. Jarro, and no guesses. I want to make sure Amanda has told you everything about _Voyager_!"

Aaron glanced at Amanda as if to say, _You weren't kidding_, and smiled at Chell. "Hi, Chell. It's nice to meet you."

"Got it in one!" Chell clapped his hands. "Oh, Amanda. Can you believe it's been an entire year? I wonder who else will show up. Did you hear about Seven of Nine's new sponsorship deal?" And on, and on, and on. Amanda and Aaron barely got in a word the whole rest of the trip.

When they arrived at the station in Marin, the three of them had to search for the right exit—the very ritzy Marin County wasn't exactly their usual stomping grounds—before they arrived at the docking pay for the private shuttles that would take them to the Paris lodge. There were a few waiting, and they climbed into one, along with Mike Ayala, who had just arrived by transporter from Mexico City.

"Ayala!" Amanda called out in surprise when they saw him looking around for the right docking bay. He noticed her, and the laconic bridge crewman nodded solemnly. Chell showered him with more of his running commentary, but after they entered the transport, Ayala stared down Aaron.

"Who are you?" he said as Chell worked out directions and fare with the driver.

Aaron blinked. "I'm Amanda's friend."

"This is Jarro Aaron, Mike. He's my guest," Amanda said quickly. "He's a vedik."

Mike nodded carefully. Amanda hid a giggle; she knew him well enough to recognize that he had his older brother act going again. "What's new with you, Mike?"

Ayala shrugged with one shoulder. "Ship out again next week."

"Ship out?"

"Pilot on a trade ship. Good money."

They spent the rest of the brief flight catching up in similar fashion, with Chell talking too much and Ayala barely at all.

As they began their descent, Amanda held Aaron's hand. He blinked, as if startled to find himself next to her.

"Hey," she said. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" he said quickly. "Come on, we're almost there."

The four of them climbed out of the shuttle and into the cool evening air to see before them a beautifully designed home—smaller than she'd expected, but still enormous—and a small stone path with lights along either side leading to the doorway. The walls of the house were a light-colored plaster, with the tiled roof and gardens typical of Northern California. It was situated on higher ground; from the smell, Amanda thought the ocean must be not far away.

"Come on," Aaron said, running a hand through his hair. "We're falling behind. Chell and Ayala are already inside."

She took one last deep breath to brace herself, and they walked through the grand arched doorway into Tom Paris's childhood home and were efficiently directed by waiting staff to the grand hallway. She then gaped. "This is…"

"Ridiculous?" finished Aaron, equally confounded by the luxury of the private ballroom. "Who did you say grew up here?"

"Tom Paris, the pilot," Amanda said, gawking at the chandeliers, four of which illuminated the long room. Original art hung on the walls, and a plush, deep red carpet around the perimeter of the room accented the warmth of the space.

"Let's hear it for private property," stammered the vedik who'd grown up in a refugee camp.

"Yeah."

"Will they let us in, do you think?"

"I'm not so sure…"

"Can we help you?" Amanda looked behind them to see an older woman with elegantly styled white hair and a simple, black evening dress approaching them from a back doorway. Catering staff lurked in the background, preparing to descend on the crowd of crewmembers with hors d'oeuvres.

"We're looking for the, um…"

She smiled generously. "The _Voyager _reunion? You're in the right place, of course. I believe all of your friends are right here."

Of course she'd noticed all the people in the room, but without all the Starfleet uniforms, it hadn't really dawned on Amanda that she was here with everyone again.

"I'm Elizabeth Paris," the lady said. "I'm Tom Paris's mother. And you are?"

"I'm Amanda Jackson," Amanda said uncertainly.

Aaron's social graces saved her once again. "My name is Jarro Aaron, ma'am," he said smoothly. "I'm a guest of Miss Jackson."

"Welcome to you both. Make sure you take some time on the deck—the view is quite nice."

Aaron suddenly took on the look of a man who remembered something he'd forgotten. "That's a good idea. In fact, I think I'll check it out right now." He moved away, leaving Amanda marooned with Tom Paris's mother.

"My, he's a flighty fellow, isn't he?" Mrs. Paris said. "Now tell me about what you did on _Voyager_. My son tells me nothing about any of his friends, and we're dying to know."

"Oh, I wasn't… I mean, we weren't—Tom was an officer, ma'am. I was just a, well, sort of enlisted," Amanda stammered.

"Oh, no," Elizabeth Paris said, laughing. "I know my son better than that. He's always been social. Come on. He and his wife are so close-lipped! I want to hear about what they were up to all that time!"

"Well, I only worked with B'El—I mean, Lieutenant Torres for a few months at the end. She was a good officer." Actually, B'Elanna was a dragon then, and she still was now, Amanda reflected. But she was fair, and she never hesitated to help the people working for her.

"Yes?" said Mrs. Paris, obviously expecting to hear more.

"Mother," called a voice that Amanda recognized. She turned to see B'Elanna coming in through the doorway with a restless baby in one arm. Amanda felt her ears turning red to be caught between them.

Except they seemed very cordial. Elizabeth Paris embraced B'Elanna and at once took little Miral from her. "Meemaw!" said the infant, shaking her head. A thin layer of dark curls caught the light.

"Hello, dear!" Elizabeth said to her daughter-in-law and kissed her granddaughter, whose forehead ridges were accented by an expression of astonishment at the crowds of people around them. "It's so good to see you. Where's Tom?"

"Parking the shuttle out back. There's a big crowd."

"Will you be staying the night?"

"Can we? I'd like to do that rather than take Miral home late."

"That's just fine, of course. Now, why don't we go see what's keeping your Daddy?" Elizabeth said to her granddaughter, who responded by stuffing a hand into her mouth as far as it would go. They left the room in search of Tom.

B'Elanna breathed deeply in the way of a mother who had just relinquished her small child into the care of grandparents, and smiled. "Hello, Amanda. We didn't mean to be rude."

Amanda just shook her head, a little embarrassed, as B'Elanna led the way into the rest of the room. "I did tell you to take tomorrow off, right?"

"Yes, you did, but I was going to finish recording the modulator specs into the new file, and it would be easier if—"

"Just take the free day, Amanda," B'Elanna said. "Nobody will mind."

"Thanks."

"So was that someone special I saw coming in with you?" B'Elanna asked. "You didn't mention you were seeing anyone."

"Oh. Sort of," Amanda said, blushing again.

"If you are, then watch out. Here come the Delaney twins."

Amanda turned to see the voluptuous Jenny and Meghan approaching at twelve o'clock. "Amanda!" one of them shrieked and gave her a great big hug as B'Elanna made her escape.

"Hi," Amanda responded, unsure who was hugging her. Over the shoulder of one twin, the other mouthed "Meghan" and pointed to herself. Amanda nodded gratefully.

"So how are you guys doing, Jenny?" Amanda asked.

"We're so wonderful. We're stationed together again, out on Deep Space Two—which is so funny, because it's not even Deep Space anymore. Anyway, we love it. You wouldn't believe the hotties they've got stationed there, and we've made so many new friends!" Amanda could guess what kind of friends Jenny was talking about.

"We're studying plasma tradeoff emissions from a nearby dual solar system," Meghan explained.

"Sure, whatever," Jenny said. "You should come and visit us, Amanda! We could so hook you up with one of our friends. You'd love it! There are parties almost every week. It's like we don't sleep, and nothing is sexier than an astrophysics post-doc with a travel grant."

Amanda blinked. "Thanks. I guess."

"No, seriously," Meghan said. "You really should drop by. Jenny's not kidding about the great supply of single men. It's a great change from _Voyager_."

Amanda smiled. "Maybe I'll visit, but it's okay about the men."

"Oh, come on, Amanda," Jenny complained. "It's not like you dated anybody on _Voyager_. Let us help you out. Ouch!" She massaged her upper arm where her sister had given her a deserving pinch.

"Actually, I'm seeing someone right now," Amanda said evenly.

"No way!" Meghan said. "Who?"

"He's a Bajoran vedik named Jarro Aaron. He's around here somewhere—he keeps drifting away."

"Where did you meet him?" Jenny said, wide-eyed.

"We sort of collided when I was walking down the street one day. You know."

"Sort of like an upper and lower quark in the creation of a new partial hydrogen atom," Meghan mused.

"Awww!" Jenny cooed.

Amanda smiled a little. "We just moved in together into his place here in San Francisco. I'm going to be living there while he's away this fall traveling."

"What part of the city is the apartment?" asked Meghan.

"Potrero Hill."

"Rent?"

"If I told you, you'd have to kill me."

"Is it that guy over there? Wow, Amanda. That's hot. Has he got a brother?" Jenny asked.

"Afraid not."

"You're so lucky, Amanda," Jenny said, her lower lip sticking out in self-pity. "I wish I had your life."

Amanda had no idea anyone could be so shallow. "Thanks, Jenny," she said. _Tell me that the next time you share a holiday meal with your family_, she thought.

Meghan sighed. "Jenny, for crying out loud," she said to her twin. "I can't believe you sometimes."

"I was only trying to be nice!"

"It's okay, really," Amanda said and made an excuse to leave the conversation. She did allow herself one disgusted look at Jenny before heading to the veranda, though.

Sue Nicoletti, who had arrived with her girlfriend, grabbed Amanda's arm as she walked by. "I overheard that," Sue hissed. "Want me to take her down for you?"

"You sound like a Maquis, Lieutenant," Amanda said. "Hi, Sue. How are you these days?"

Sue's partner laughed. She was a short and stocky woman, an amusing compliment to Sue's wiry figure. "We're great, now that we're in the same Quadrant," the woman said, squeezing Sue's hand and offering the other to Amanda. "My name's Allison."

Amanda shook it. "Oh, you're Allison!" she said. "We heard a lot about you during the last few months."

"Oh, stop," Allison said bashfully.

"No, really!" Amanda said. "She practically announced every letter over the com system. How's the season going?" Amanda had resented Sue's happiness at the time, feeling her own absence of loved ones even more acutely. She thought it was wonderful now, though, especially since the two women had reunited.

Allison grinned proudly. "That new thoroughbred I took a gamble on is incredible. He's won me three races this year."

"Show her the ring, too," Sue insisted.

Allison beamed and lifted her left hand for Amanda to see. "Sue says she got it on Gamma-Zeta-Oober-Goober—"

"It was Uuberia Beta," Sue said. "Remember, the second-to-last way station before we got out of the Delta Quadrant?"

"Whatever," Allison said.

Amanda giggled. "Yeah, we _so _knew she did that. The whole engineering section pitched in on the credits."

"Sue! You didn't tell me that!"

"What? I paid them back." Sue turned red in the face.

Amanda jumped to her defense. "No, she really did. Please, don't think—"

Allison chortled. "Oh, I don't mind. It's pretty romantic, in a strange, crowd-scene kind of way. But I'm afraid I'll have to go solo when I get yours for the wedding next month."

Sue slapped herself on the forehead. "That's right! Amanda, did you want to come? The ceremony will be out in Kentucky on Allison's ranch. I should have brought the actual invitations with me, I'm worried I'll leave someone out."

Amanda felt pleasantly surprised. "Oh! Well, just tell me when. I bet I can make it."

Sue smiled. "Good. And bring a date."

"A who?"

Sue and Allison both laughed. "Don't tell me that guy who came here with you isn't some kind of special," Allison said.

"Oh, y'know…" Amanda said, but she didn't get to finish her thought.

"Good evening, everyone." It was Chakotay. Amanda started slightly upon seeing him. The last time she'd seen him was when he'd bought her a burrito and some cheap shoes and sent her on her way back home from the Starfleet psych ward.

"Commander!" she said.

"Actually, it's just Chakotay, now," he said easily. "It's good to see you, Miss Jackson. How has the year treated you?"

It took her a moment, but then she caught on. He wouldn't let anyone know what had happened.

"I've been… I'm doing well. Thank you," she told him. He nodded casually, but he also gave her a small smile of recognition.

"I was just talking to someone out on the veranda," he said. "Fellow by the name of Jarro?"

"I'm glad to see he hasn't left yet," Amanda said, craning her neck to see where Aaron was now.

"A nice guy," Chakotay commented. "He seems very deserving."

"What do you mean?"

Allison interrupted, nudging Sue in the side. "The wedding, Sue."

"It's okay," Chakotay said, laughing. "The admiral has our invitation already. Congratulations to you both."

"It seemed only fair to send one ahead to Admiral Janeway," said Sue, "after all she's done for us."

"Speaking of that," Chakotay said, "Amanda, you should talk to the admiral. There's something I think you'll want to ask her about."

"What is it?"

"You'll see. Try her when she doesn't have a mob of people around her."

Amanda turned around to see Admiral Janeway in her uniform, standing among a cluster of people near the buffet table. Just then, Janeway turned and stepped away, as if to get a breath of fresh air.

Amanda looked at Chakotay, who nodded discreetly before turning back to Sue and Allison. Confused, Amanda excused herself and made her way to where Janeway stood.

Janeway looked up and smiled perfunctorily as Amanda approached. The admiral then frowned just barely as Amanda stopped in front of her to speak.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Admiral Janeway," Amanda said, a little nervous as she spoke directly to her former captain for the first time. Well, the first time when it wasn't over the com system as the ship threatened to explode at any moment.

"Thank you very much," Janeway said graciously. "I'm sorry, could you remind me with whom you came?"

Amanda blinked. "Well, I came with a friend. But my name is Amanda Jackson. I was a crewman in the weapons bay."

Janeway held a hand to her mouth in dismay. "Crewman Jackson! I'm sincerely sorry that I didn't recognize you!"

Jackson wasn't sure how to react. "Well. That's all right. You know, with most of us not wearing Starfleet uniforms, it's a little hard…"

"Yes, of course it is," Janeway said a little too quickly.

Just then, Amanda put two and two together. Chakotay had told her to ask Janeway about something… Janeway was her most senior officer during her time as an "enlisted" personnel…

"It was you, wasn't it?" Amanda said.

"I'm sorry?" Janeway said. But from a twitch of her eye, Amanda knew she was right.

"You failed me on the psych eval."

Janeway looked down at her drink then back at Amanda. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Please."

"Miss Jackson, I amsorry if my judgment has caused you difficulty."

"Difficulty?" Amanda could barely get her mind around what the Admiral said. "Cause me 'difficulty?' You've got to be kidding."

Janeway obviously didn't care to be addressed in that manner by a former crewman. "Miss Jackson, if you would like to discuss this at another time, I will try to accommodate you."

"Admiral," Amanda said definitively, "you do not even know me. I had to introduce myself to you tonight. And you gave me a black mark on my psych eval. I deserve some answers right now."

"Miss Jackson, I don't believe this is the time or place."

"I saved that ship half a dozen times. You owe me this!"

"Every person on _Voyager _saved the ship half a dozen times or more," Janeway pointed out sternly. "You don't take credit. That is what it means to be part of a Starfleet crew."

Amanda nodded. "And you're going to suggest that if I don't understand that, then perhaps I shouldn't have applied to the Academy?"

"I do suggest that."

"And that gives you the right to give a black mark to someone you didn't even know? What was it, B'Elanna's section reports? Is that what you based your decision on?"

"The reports did matter. There were significant comments." The Admiral sighed. "Miss Jackson, I truly am sorry. I did what I thought was best for you."

Ironically, it was then that Amanda suddenly felt the disappearance from her shoulders of a weight she hadn't realized was there. The failing evaluation had come not from someone who knew her or who had the right to judge. It didn't mean a thing.

Out of ignorance, her former captain had liberated her forever from a system that would indeed have ruined her—because it would never have recognized her full potential. Some people could live a life and excel by those rules. Despite what she'd believed, Amanda nevershould have been one of those people.

"You didn't think I could handle the psychological pressures of a life in Starfleet," Amanda said to Admiral Janeway. Despite herself, she began to smile. "That's a joke."

"Miss Jackson, the requirements are very rigorous."

"No, no." Now Amanda began to laugh. "I understand. _You _don't, but I understand."

"Excuse me?"

Amanda just shook her head blithely. She wondered if this was what it was for other people when they became adults and suddenly realized that they knew as much as their parents. Amanda had withstood the psychological pressures of seven years on _Voyager_, of a stint in the Maquis, of losing her family and home at a young age: average Starfleet service was probably peanuts compared to that. "Admiral, you don't even know me," she repeated. "You have no idea who I am."

"I hope that's not true," said a new voice. Amanda turned to see Aaron standing beside her. "Seven years, one ship—you'd have to be pretty stuck on yourself if you didn't know every last person there."

Amanda delighted in the admiral's discomfited expression. "This is Admiral Janeway, Aaron," she told her lover.

"Really? I thought they were just giving out admiral's uniforms at the front door to everybody but us!"

Amanda took Aaron's hand in hers. Briefly distracted by his sweaty palm and blatant nerve, she smiled blithely at the admiral.

"Well, tell me about yourself, Mr…" Admiral Janeway said, struggling to control the situation politely.

"Jarro Aaron," he told her. "Mr. Jarro is a little too formal for me, though, Admiral. Please. Call me Aaron. And I'll reintroduce myself a little later, if that will help."

"Very well, I suppose that was deserved. Now, Aaron, what is it you do?"

Amanda could hardly believe what she was hearing. He'd get himself arrested!

Then again, he didn't have seven years of Starfleet service packed into his memory. There was no automatic respect for a captain or an admiral drilled into him by necessity. He could say whatever on earth he wanted to say.

And was doing a very good job of it, too.

Amanda reached out a hand to stop him from going too far. After all, this time she did not need revenge.

"Amanda?" She heard a woman's voice behind her. "Amanda Jackson, is that you!"

Amanda turned around, and promptly forgot all about the admiral. It was Jor. And then some.

Jor was unbelievably pregnant. Amanda stared, horrified that she was only just discovering this now. "Jor!" she said, her jaw near to the floor.

"Don't drop your wine glass, sweetie," Jor said, and gave Amanda a hug. It was a very sideways sort of hug, given the baby stuck between them.

"Oh my goodness," Amanda said, allowing herself to be pulled away from Aaron and Janeway.

"Yes, I'm due in about two weeks. Tabor was about to throw a fit when I told him I wasn't going to miss this reunion, but I won of course. And here I am!"

"I can't believe it."

"He's over there somewhere." Jor scanned the crowds of mingling faces. "Oh, well. He'll be along soon, I'm sure. He's been hovering over me for the last month. I'm about to kick him out of the house."

"Jor, I'm so sorry I didn't stay in touch, it wasn't that I didn't want to, it's just that I got so busy, and then I—"

Jor waved her off. "Oh, please. I understand. You had to make it on your own. You didn't need all of us to ask you if you were sure about what you were doing, did you?"

Amanda felt completely transparent. "Um, I guess not."

"Now what about you? Spill the beans," Jor said, wiggling an eyebrow. "I got here just after Sam Wildman—Sam's pregnant too, by the way, you just can't tell yet. Anyway, she told me you'd shown up with the handsomest man in the room. You're the talk of the party!"

"I'm what?"

"I swear, I always wondered if you were deaf. Who is he? What's his name? And good choice, by the way. Bajorans are wonderful in the sack."

"Jor, shut up," Amanda said. This was all getting to be too much for her. And to think she had stayed awake half the night, worried that no one would even remember her name.

"Ooooh," Jor said, looking around the room. "He's not that one, talking to Admiral Janeway, is he?"

Amanda looked. "Yes, that's him," she said, wondering how the conversation was going, and if they'd be booted from the party before dinner was served. "His name's Jarro. Jarro Aaron. He's a vedik, he went to seminary in Berkeley.

Jor's jaw dropped. "Jarro? As in, the Jarro family from the Kirandi continent, the ones who ran one of the most important supply lines under the occupation for ten years? Amanda, his family are heroes!"

"Yeah, I guess that's him. Not that it's any of your business."

"Of course it is. I'm about to be dealing with nothing but babies and diapers for the next two years of my life at least," Jor declared. "I'm going to gossip as much as I can while I'm still awake enough to enjoy it. So, a vedik, huh? Lucky you."

Suddenly, she grabbed Amanda's arm. "Oh my goodness, Amanda! Oh my goodness!"

"What is it!" Amanda said. She was glad to see Jor, but this was a bit too much.

Jor was looking straight at Aaron. "Is that thing in his hand what I think it is?"

Amanda sighed. "I don't know. He's been fidgeting with something all night. I don't know what it is."

"Sweetie," Jor said, "he has an extra earring with him. I mean, one of his family earrings! See there, in his hand?"

Amanda glanced over again. Aaron was indeed fingering something silver with a little chain. Up until now, she hadn't really noticed it. "So?" she said. Aaron looked up at her from across the room and gave a little smile.

Jor grabbed Amanda by the arm. "Don't you have any clue what that _means_, you idiot?"

"No. Why should I?"

Tabor came along, interrupting whatever it was Jor was about to say. "Amanda!" he exclaimed. "You showed up!"

"Why is everyone so surprised?"

He laughed. "It's great to see you. Here, give me a hug, Amanda. Did you see that Jor is pregnant?" he said.

Jor rolled her eyes. "The way he says it," she said to Amanda, "you'd think he only just noticed it himself." She rubbed a hand over her very swollen belly. "Right now I'll be very glad to get _un_pregnant, Prophets willing."

Jor just handed his wife a drink. "Here. I even put in a splash of tikki juice, just the way you like it."

"I don't remember you being so accommodating when we were in on _Voyager_, Tabor," Amanda commented. "You were always the last one to give up any of your rations, back in the day. Unless it was a game of poker."

"Just goes to show what married life will do to a man," he said with a shrug. "Speaking of which. That's your date there, with the earring in his hand, isn't it? Talking to Lieutenant Kim and the blonde woman?"

"You mean Aaron?" she said. "Yes, that's him. Everybody keeps asking about him. Why?"

Tabor and Jor exchanged a look. "Oh, nothing," Jor answered for her husband.

Good grief. Amanda was about to demand what the big deal was when she felt a hand on her arm. It was Aaron this time.

"Hi," she said, surprised. "Thanks for showing up. We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" He glanced at Jor and Tabor. "I hope I'm passing the review."

"It's not _our_ opinion you should be worried about, Vedik Jarro," Jor said coyly, then linked a hand through her husband's arm and led him away.

"What was that about? She never acted that way before," Amanda said. "Do Bajoran women get crazy when they're pregnant or something?"

"Not any crazier than when they're not pregnant."

"I'll be sure to tell your sister you said that. And by the way? I don't know how much you heard with the admiral…"

"I heard enough," he confirmed. "That's why I put on the act. Are you okay?"

"See? Both my shoes are still on."

He looked around the room and laughed stiffly. Amanda ignored his odd mood swing and nudged him gently with her elbow. "Thank you for talking to her like you did. I couldn't believe it."

"Don't have to thank me."

"Don't have to," she corrected. "Want to. I love you."

"Hey, can I see you outside for a minute?" Aaron asked suddenly. "I have something I want to, um, talk to you about."

"Sure," Amanda said. "But relax, will you? You're as tense as a Bolian fiddle string. You have been all night."

He didn't answer, but instead led her through the clusters of mingling friends and out the doorway onto the veranda. The view was gorgeous: the Golden Gate Bridge shone in the darkness, and the glitter off the Pacific was beautiful. Amanda shivered in the cold night air.

"It's beautiful," she commented. "Though I wouldn't mind if San Francisco added a warm summer night or two to its list of attractions."

"I like it," Aaron said. "I'm even thinking of sticking around, maybe for the long run. That is, after I get back from Cardassia."

Amanda looked from the ocean back to him. "I'm glad," she said quietly.

"That's good." He seemed so nervous tonight, for some reason. Enough was enough. "Aaron," she said. "What's going on? You've been jumping around like nobody's business tonight. People have noticed!"

He laughed guiltily, then took the suspicious earring from one of his pockets. He fingered it carefully, staring at it in his hands. "Listen, Amanda. I… Um, I don't know how to do this. But I really want you to have this."

Amanda was touched. "Oh, Aaron. Of course I'll have it! That's so sweet of you. People will wonder why I'm wearing a Bajoran earring, of course, but…"

He was staring at her. "No, no. Amanda, on Bajor, we only give one of our family earrings to someone if… If we want them to become part of our family."

Amanda froze. He wasn't saying what she thought he was saying.

"Here," he said. "I want you to be my wife. So, if you want to, take it." He held it out between them, where the starlight and the light from inside glinted off the carefully wrought metal.

Amanda stared at him in shock. Her throat had gone so dry. And he just stood there, trembling.

"Aaron," she choked out. "Me? You're asking me here?"

He blinked. "Well, yeah."

"Why?"

"Because it's a big event for you, and I thought, with the beautiful veranda and the view and everything…"

"No, I mean _why_!"

"Oh, that!" He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You want me to tell you why I'm proposing to you? You've got to be kidding me. Okay, I love you. You are a strong, good person. I become a better man when I'm with you. You make me want to be even better than that. I want us to share our future. I want you to have my children. I want us to grow old together. I'm asking because of the way you started laughing the first day I met you with that stupid replicator on the stairs of your apartment. And I've got a lot more reasons than that, but I'm kind of nervous so it's hard to think of them all." He held her hand. "Please. I love you."

Amanda felt a tear trickling down one cheek.

The side of Aaron's mouth curled up just a bit. "Plus, you're great in the sack."

"Hey," she heard a man's voice from the doors of the veranda. "Everything okay out here?"

Amanda looked over. It was Tom Paris, drink in one hand and a concerned look on his face. Amanda realized that this must look terrible from where he stood.

And she didn't care.

She looked Aaron in the eye. "Okay," she told him.

It took him a moment to digest her answer. But once he did, she could see a smile spread slowly across his face. There it was: the dimple beneath one eye. He was happy.

"Good," he said, and placed the earring in her hand. Then he grabbed her in a tight embrace, swinging her around and laughing. Amanda hugged him back.

Aaron took her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. "We are going to have one hell of a life together," he said when he pulled back.

"Okay," was all she could say.

Over Aaron's shoulder, she saw Tom Paris still standing there dumbly, drink in hand. B'Elanna had noticed from inside and tiptoed through the door, an alert baby Miral in one arm. She grabbed Tom by the arm and jerked her head toward the door, urging him inside. But before she followed him, she caught Amanda's eye. And smiled.

Amanda turned back to face the man she had just agreed to marry. "Aaron?" she said.

"What?"

"I love you."

He smiled beautifully. "I'm a very lucky guy."

"Maybe so."

"Hey, let's go call my sister," he said. "She made me swear that I'd let her know how it went."

"You told your sister you were going to propose? How long have you been—"

"We can come back right after, I promise." Without waiting for her approval, he grabbed her hand and started towards the door.

They couldn't get in, however. Practically the entire crew of _Voyager _had assembled at the doors to the balcony, looking out at them. Amanda was horrified to be the center of attention, especially now! "Oh my god," she whispered. Beside her, Aaron was speechless. His arms tightened around her waste a bit, as if to shield himself from the onlookers.

Jor shoved her way through the crowd and moved as quickly as she was able to surround Amanda with another sideways hug. "Sorry, sweetie," she said. "We're your people. We have to make you feel like an idiot." To Aaron, she said, "Welcome to the family."

* * *

_Finis._

_No really. I_ am _finis. Promise!_

_Thanks for reading. I hope you had fun._


End file.
